


set the pace

by flimsy



Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, Feelings, Intoxication, M/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Pining, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not always easy, but sometimes it's harder than it has to be. --University meets Radio 1 AU</p><p>  <i>“Do you think,” Nick says, “that we can keep this between us?” He gestures between himself and Louis and gives Louis a crooked smile like this is all explanatory, and Louis’ stomach twists uncomfortably. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“What,” he retorts, raising his brows, “that we shagged? Or that you are an awful snorer?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	set the pace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueandbrady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueandbrady/gifts).



> For [Blueandbrady](http://blueandbrady.tumblr.com) \- I hope you enjoy this! Happy Holidays!
> 
>  
> 
> All the ♥♥♥ go out to [Lane](http://quitefinished.tumblr.com/) for holding my hand throughout this entire thing, betaing and being overall wonderful and encouraging, to [Sam](http://dazy-laze.tumblr.com/) for an amazing and thorough britpicking and to [Ayla](http://checkthemargins.tumblr.com/) for lots of handholding and encouragement when I needed it most.

It must be the icy cold November air, biting through Louis’ feeble shirt like a swarm of tiny piranhas, chilling him down to the bone, that enhances the scent of food being prepared to a staggering point. Louis halts in the middle of the hall after unlocking the door to their flat. He narrows his eyes and, swaying, pops his head into the kitchen where Harry is in full gear, apron and his hair tied back in a stupid little bun, chopping vegetables the names of which Louis probably cannot pronounce while there’s an approximate sixty pots on the hob and a pan in the oven. 

Louis blinks, feeling a headache coming in in full, his stomach displeased with the scents in the kitchen mixing with various shots he had earlier. He holds onto the doorframe, feeling dizzy, and slurs, “Whaddaya doing?” 

Harry spins around, knife in hand, eyes wide like Louis startled him, and says, typically quick, “What are _you_ doing?” He points at Louis with his knife and then to the great antique clock over their fridge. 

“It’s eleven o’clock.” He tilts his head a little and then his face breaks into a grin, almost a smirk, like he’s pleased with himself for working something out. Louis makes a sound like _ugh_ and holds his hand up to stop Harry, but it’s already too late. 

“Wild night, huh?” he says. “Who was the lucky fella this time?” 

Louis shakes his head at him and flicks him off, because Harry is making it sound like it’s a habitual thing, like it’s something that Louis just _does_ , when Harry knows fully well that it’s not, that it happened once. 

“Fuck you,” he says. His stomach protests again and he reaches down to pat it, then makes an unhappy face at Harry because he’s drunk and he’s still cold. “I lost my coat in the Thames,” he says. “And I didn’t even get a shag, just so you know. Me and Zayn were kicked out of the club and then just ran around like idiots. I had a lot to drink. A lot.” He rubs at his face, feeling how cold his nose and cheeks are, then wraps his arms around himself.

Harry’s face goes a bit softer and he places the knife on the worktop, joining Louis in the door and gently guiding him toward the bathroom. 

“Have a shower,” he says and Louis sighs, walking as Harry steers him, eyes heavy. “And then you’re going to bed.” He gives Louis a look like he’s guilty of something and continues, “There’s guests over for five, remember? That’s why I’m cooking. But I’ll make sure they’re quiet.”

“Ugh,” Louis says again, but then nothing more because Harry gets him undressed and gets him in the shower, and has aspirin and water ready for him when Louis comes back out, wearing the most comfy of Harry’s jumpers from the tumble dryer that he could find. He falls asleep before Harry has shut all the blinds, seamlessly slipping into one alcohol induced dream after the other, and wakes up to the sounds of unfamiliar voices and the clatter of dishes and cutlery and Harry's happy, welcoming voice. 

It takes him a few moments to adjust, to remember that he's slept far into the afternoon and that it's not early in the morning; he turns onto his side and fumbles for his phone, which he finds - thank _god_ (as if losing his coat wouldn't have been enough) - lying on the bedside table. Its screen tells him that it's just after five and he rolls back onto his stomach and buries his face in his pillow, groaning. The thought of having to face a hoard of Harry's insufferable hipster friends is nearly unbearable and he knows Harry wouldn't be upset with him for missing dinner, either. 

There is, however, a faint but nagging rumbling in his stomach, and Louis holds out for a few minutes longer, curled up in his duvet and weighing the cons against the pros, until it has turned into a full on feeling of starvation, body hungry for carbs and salt and grease. 

It takes him another ten minutes to get out of bed and he considers a shower for a moment, but then decides that the one he had after getting home should be enough to make him presentable to human company; he finds a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt, but foregoes the socks, and then sneaks out into the hall, stealing a glance into the living room where Harry has set up the dinner table and appears to be topping up everyone's wine glasses, looking like a proper host. 

The kitchen is a bit of a mess of pans and pots and something chocolatey slowly cooking on the hob, and Louis wrinkles his nose and grabs a bowl from the shelf and heaves some left over rice and fish cakes into it, stomach grumbling. He finds a fork and then to his delight some chicken teriyaki skewers in the oven which he snatches to start snacking on. He turns around to sit on the worktop just when the door to the living room opens and a lanky guy, head turned back to laugh at something Harry said, walks in. 

Louis opens his mouth for a half-hearted hello - he _lives_ here and he's not going to feel weird about just having woken up and looking like it, too - but then stops abruptly when the guy turns around. 

They stare at each other for a moment and Louis nearly drops his skewers, wide eyes fixed on the guy's ridiculous quiff and his freckles and his nose, all of which are so eerily familiar. He's a bit taller than Louis remembers, a bit ganglier, but then again, Louis was also so drunk that it's a miracle he's even able to recognize him at all. 

He clears his throat and slides off the worktop again, uncertain for a moment if the recognition is mutual, but the tug at the corners of guy's - David, Louis thinks, David - mouth shows the beginnings of a knowing smirk. 

"David," Louis says before he can stop himself, putting his bowl of food down.

David's face does a weird thing between a grin and a frown, like he’s not sure which one to go for, and Louis narrows his eyes at him, confused, waiting for a reply, but all he gets is Harry in his stupid faux-naked apron bursting into the kitchen and latching onto David’s neck with one lanky arm and exclaiming, “Nick! I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my flatmate Louis.” 

Louis blinks, looks from Harry to _Nick_ and back again; Harry is still grinning at Louis, but lets go of Nick’s neck, and dives to the fridge. 

“Yes,” Nick says carefully, “we’ve met. Lovely fella.” He toasts Louis with his glass of wine and then slowly it dawns on Louis who this is, that this is Harry’s _Nick_ , that one.

He clears his throat and has got his nicest, politest smile ready when Harry re-emerges with five bottles of Louis’ Corona in his ridiculously large hands, completely oblivious. 

"Hey," he says, "now that you're up, Louis, why don't you join us? There's more food out front." He grins. "And drinks, if you can handle any more."

Nick laughs at that and Louis makes a scoffing noise, irritated by the assumption, and says, "I handle my alcohol just fine, thanks." He shoots Harry a glare, but Harry just grins at him again and ushers Louis and Nick out into the living room where a true circus of people is already gathered around the dining table. 

Louis tries very hard not to look at Nick at all when he says his hellos, and it's somewhat made easier by people introducing themselves to him - there's a Pixie, whose name Louis has vaguely heard before, and an Aimee and a Niall - and all of them seem to be in some function or another at the radio or Nick’s friend and all of them are eager to tell Louis about how charming Harry is. There's some shuffling around and Harry deciding he wants to sit by the door rather than the head so he can get up and get things more easily, and Louis feels a little awkward and silly in his worn home clothes, unshaven and barefoot and with barely brushed hair when all of Harry’s evidently fancy friends seem dressed up for a proper dinner party.

Sitting down, he shoots Nick a quick look from under his lashes, watching him pull out a chair for the redhead - Aimee, and considers his choices; now it’s nearly too late to say anything even though he is fairly sure that Nick has recognized him too. But that moment in the kitchen has passed, and it wouldn’t be anything but awkward. He looks down at his plate and rolls his shoulders, trying to shrug it off. 

When he looks up again, yet another seat shuffle has taken place and Nick is suddenly sitting next to him, giving him a half-dorky grin. 

“Hi,” Louis says and grins back, trying to make it not too friendly, just a casual grin, perfect for pretending that this is his first time meeting Nick. “Harry’s quite the host, isn’t he?”

Nick scoots closer in his chair and takes a large gulp of wine before replying, “That he is. He’s been bringing pastries to the station for weeks now, but I didn’t think he could actually cook.”

He’s goodlooking, his smile a little crooked, his nose a bit off, a few too many freckles, but an overall pleasant face to look at. Louis realizes he’s staring a little and buys some time with a sip of his beer, nodding at Nick. “He’s alright,” he says, dragging it out a bit, and then makes a grab for the chicken as Harry sets the pan on the table. 

Everyone else, too, gets distracted by food and making sure they have some as Harry keeps carrying out dish after dish; with a plate full of greasy chicken and roast potatoes and skewers and other treats in front of him, Louis feels a little better for a while. Harry seems delighted in his apron and with his hair up in a ridiculous ponytail, and by the time they’ve all finished eating, he’s positively glowing. 

Louis chats with Niall for a bit, who turns out to be the soundtech at the radio, and Aimee who doesn’t work at the radio at all, but seems to be around often enough to tell Louis all about Harry’s mishaps and unfortunate falls and perfect coffee runs. Harry is talking and smiling, and when Louis looks up at him, he gives Louis a big grin before going back to his conversation. 

Louis leans back in his chair, feeling full and relaxed, and tosses the rest of his beer back only to find Nick watching him. It’s less odd now than an hour ago when Louis couldn’t even quite remember him in clothes, and Nick seems more at ease, too, finishing off his wine. 

“So, _you_ ’re Harry’s boss,” Louis starts, putting emphasis on it as if Nick doesn’t seem suited for a supervising position.

“I am indeed,” Nick says. He makes a grand gesture and continues, “I am everyone’s boss.” He grins and reaches for the bottle of wine to pour himself some more, but makes no attempt to bite at Louis’ bait, instead keeping his eyes trained on Louis. 

“Shut up, man,” Louis says and rolls his eyes at him. He grabs another bottle of beer from the coolbox at the end of the table and opens it with the back of his spoon, tilting a brow at Nick when he takes a sip. Maybe he’s feeling a tiny bit cocky. 

“You’re not everyone’s boss. _Your_ boss isn’t even everyone’s boss. Isn’t the BBC something like Skynet at this point?” Nick makes an amused sound, and Louis continues before he can speak, “How do I know you’re not a robot? How do I know you’re not trying to turn my Harry into a robot?” Nick looks incredulous at that, amused and startled at the same time, and Louis raises his shoulders, pleased with himself. 

“Yes,” Nick counters dryly, a little belated. “Harry is a crucial piece in BCC Skynet’s plan for world domination. You caught us. What a bummer.” He shakes his head, scooting back in his chair and folding his incredibly long legs. It has Louis swallow and hurry to take another sip, eyes darting up to Nick’s face. 

“I should call Interpol then.” He puts his beer down and gets on his feet, feeling a little wobbly, and excuses himself from the table, taking the route through the kitchen to get to the loo. It’s probably the fact that he was out until ten that day that’s making him feel drunk from three beers, and when he’s done pissing, he splashes water on his face, displeased by how his unstyled hair is falling into his face in a mess. He wrinkles his nose at himself and ducks out of the bathroom into the hall again, where he finds Nick leaning against the wall, playing with his phone. 

He looks disgustingly well-maintained and not drunk at all, even though he must’ve emptied an entire bottle of wine all by himself. Louis closes the bathroom door and leans against it, heart beating fast; it’s so odd seeing somebody again that you’ve only ever seen once, and particularly if most of what you remember about them is their nakedness. 

“This is weird,” he finally says when Nick has pocketed his phone because now that it’s just the two of them, Louis can’t not talk about it. “You told me your name was _David_.”

Nick looks down and his ridiculous quiff - it wasn’t _that_ tall when Louis first kissed him in the club, he’s sure - bobs with the movement. When he looks up again, his face is the funniest mix of embarrassed, annoyed and amused. “I’d heard you talking about David Beckham to a mate. Thought it’d give me a better chance.”

Louis stares at him, baffled momentarily, and then laughs out loudly once before covering his mouth in his hand, shaking his head. “That is _stupid_.” 

“Well,” Nick replies. “It got you to shag me, innit?” His eyes dart to Louis’ chest, legs, crotch, very obviously so, before returning to his face.

Louis bites his lip and drops his head back against the door. “Well, it got me some too, eh? _David_.” There is a moment in which Nick seems to hesitate, like he’s caught between one decision and another, but eventually his shoulders drop. 

“Do you think,” he says, “that we can keep this between us?” He gestures between himself and Louis and gives Louis a crooked smile like this is all explanatory, and Louis’ stomach twists uncomfortably. 

“What,” he retorts, raising his brows, “that we shagged? Or that you are an awful snorer?” 

Nick nods and pushes himself off the wall. “Both. Though, I suppose the latter will get me into more trouble.” He stops unexpectedly, plays with his hair. “I would appreciate it, though, with Harry working for me now and all. Who could’ve known, huh?” He grins at Louis again, but it’s stiff and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Louis tries not to feel gutted, but it sits right there in the pit of his stomach because somehow he did not expect things to go this way at all. 

“You get it, yeah?”

Louis nods. “‘Course,” he says, smiling back. He slides past Nick back into the kitchen and buries his nose in the fridge for a properly cold beer, and grabs a bowl of guacamole and some tortilla chips from the counter where Harry must’ve left them. 

Everything in the living room seems as usual, and Louis dumps himself into Nick’s empty chair, conveniently at Harry’s left, trying to pretend like he wasn’t just gone a bit longer than strictly necessary. 

Harry’s face is red and his hair is coming out of the messy bun; inexplicably, it makes him more attractive, and Louis pokes his shin with his toe and toasts him with his beer. 

“You’re drunk, Harry,” he says, grinning, and Harry makes a delighted noise, breaking away from his conversation with Pixie. 

“So are you!” he exclaims, and then gestures toward the round of people sitting at their table. “And so are they!” 

Aimee chuckles, craning her head a little, pointing at Nick entering the living room again, giving the table a look of amusement. “He is not, however,” she says, and Louis pulls a face, sticking his tongue out, and then boos Nick for good measure.

Nick seems unfazed, sits next to Aimee and sneaks one long arm across to table to reclaim his wine glass, inconveniently placed next to Louis’ elbow. “Excuse me,” he says, and Louis snorts and replies, “Excuse _you_.” 

He chucks down the rest of his beer, wondering how the bottle emptied itself so quickly, and begs Niall for another, and then yet again another when this one, too, disappears much faster than it should in between half-laughed and half-shouted conversations with Pixie about the Kardashians and Niall climbing onto a chair, one tennis-socked foot on their good dining room table, serenading the lot of them. 

Louis comes to realize that he’s really fucking glad that Harry found this bunch of people who are equally as weird as him, and half-way through realizing it, he finds himself saying that out loud.

“You’re a cute one, Tomlinson,” Aimee says and moves like she’s going to pinch his cheek, but Louis ducks away, stuttering to his feet, Harry’s hand on his hip to keep him steady. He puts his bottle down, bowing the tiniest bit, and says, “I shall excuse myself.” 

“You shall,” Harry echoes and pinches his waist, so Louis tweaks his nipple and runs off, through the kitchen to the loo, nearly falling over when he rounds the corner. He has a piss and has a few gulps of water while washing his hands, and when he comes back out, Nick is there again, standing in the door to the kitchen.

“This is not a general meeting spot in our flat,” Louis says, stabbing at Nick’s chest with his forefinger. 

Nick catches his hand and holds his wrist, and upon closer inspection - Louis notices he _is_ much closer now than he has been all night with Nick across the table, talking mostly to Niall and Aimee - Nick seems hammered. His nose is red, eyes dark. 

“You’re a little shit,” Nick says and uses his leverage and hold on Louis’ wrist to crowd him against the wall. He’s not a big guy by any measure, but he’s definitely taller than Louis, and Louis has to tilt his head back to look at him, heart thudding in his chest. 

“That’s what you call ‘keeping it between us’?” he asks and nudges his knee up between Nick’s legs. 

“‘s between us,” Nick replies, and then ducks down and kisses Louis. Louis remembers this as well, but last time it was different and Nick tasted like Redbull and vodka, disgustingly sweet, and they hadn’t kissed before and were considerably more drunk, too. Louis arches up and kisses back; he wraps his arms around Nick’s neck and closes his eyes so he can focus more, so he can make sure he remembers this, too. 

It’s so weird how his body recalls everything, how it reacts to Nick’s and how it knows, and how this is so familiar even though a moment ago they were sitting at a table with the others like they’d just met. 

Louis breaks away, breathing hard, knowing that he must look like a proper mess; he jerks his chin toward the living room door down the hall, which is blissfully shut, and Nick seems to get the message, following Louis down to the left to Louis’ bedroom when Louis starts dragging him along. 

There's no time to even turn on the light before they start kissing again once Louis has shut the door and this time it’s more desperate and hungry, the room quiet and cool around them. Nick walks him backwards until Louis’ bum hits the desk and he hops up on it and hooks his legs around Nick’s to draw him closer, biting down on his bottom lip, starting to play with the buttons on his shirt. He kisses down Nick's chin and neck, and Nick makes a strangled noise, almost a moan and says, "I can't stay."

It registers somewhere in the back of Louis' mind and he nods absently, popping the first to buttons on Nick's shirt open. 

"Mhm, I couldn't stay last time either." He grins and tilts his head up to kiss Nick again; the odd angle makes the kiss sloppy and he breaks away, holding his weight with his hands on the table, rocking his hips up a little. 

“Nick,” he says, staring up at Nick’s face in the dim light from the streetlight outside. The angle of his nose looks harsher like this, his chin sharper; Louis likes it. He reaches down and fits the curve of Nick’s cock between the V of his fingers, rubbing gently, feeling it swell. 

Nick gasps and tilts his hips into Louis’ hand, but then grabs his wrist and stops him. “I owe you a favor,” he says. “From last time.” 

“What?” Louis asks dumbly but then Nick’s hands are on his flies, undoing the button, the zip, wiggling Louis’ jeans down his hips. 

“When you let me fuck your mouth,” Nick says; he’s grinning now and Louis groans and closes his eyes. 

“I should reciprocate.” Nick presses the flat of his hand against the underside of Louis’ cock through his pants and Louis shifts up, moaning a little, opening his eyes to find Nick watching him, waiting. 

“C’mon,” he demands and pulls back a bit, nudges Louis’ hip. Louis pushes his briefs down and kicks off his jeans, breathing hard; everything is much clearer than the last time, which is mostly a blur in Louis’ head now. Nick’s hands on his thighs are warm, soft, and his mouth is even softer when he leans in and kisses Louis’ hip, which sends a shiver of anticipation through his body. The fact that his door isn’t locked and that there’s a party of people just two rooms away, whose voices he can still faintly hear, just makes the thrill bigger, makes him grab his own cock and give himself a good two, three strokes, tugging until he’s fully hard. 

He leans back and Nick spreads his legs with the flat of his hands on the inside of Louis’ thighs, pushing them apart until Louis gasps and feels himself go red, feeling exposed and properly nude even though there’s barely any light. He swallows down the knot in his throat and nudges Nick’s shoulder with his toe, curling his fingers over the edges of his desk. 

Nick barely spends a second looking at him, quiff already messed up from Louis’ hands in it, and then sits on the stool Louis uses for his desk; it’s weird, seeing him sit on it with his long legs bent, and edging closer to kiss Louis’ thigh. Louis moans, squeezes his eyes shut momentarily, when Nick’s breath ghosts over his skin, his heart hammering in his chest, and grabs hold of his cock again, rubbing his thumb over the slick head, needing something to take the edge off. 

“I could eat you out,” Nick says suddenly and the thought makes Louis groan again, makes his hips buck up. He hates the way Nick chuckles, all pleased, so he kicks him again, lightly, and says, “You’re going to suck me off.” He tries to shuffle a little closer, push his crotch into Nick’s face, and Nick bites down on his thigh again, makes Louis yelp, and then kisses a trail to his cock and balls, nosing into his pubes. 

The sudden contact has Louis hold his breath, let go of his cock to grip the edge of the table, and Nick makes a happy sound, and flicks his tongue out over Louis’ sensitive skin, gently sucks the side of his sac, his nose pressed against Louis’ stiff cock. 

“Fuck-” Louis breathes out and rolls his hips up. Nick mumbles something against him that Louis doesn’t quite catch and then his thumb presses against his taint and his mouth finds the underside of Louis’ cock, making his hips twitch up again. 

“You’re really bloody eager,” Nick says and wraps his hand around Louis’ cock, pulls it down to suck the head between his lips; he looks up with his hair in his face and his cheeks hollowed and Louis sobs out a moan, spreading his legs until his knees hit the table. 

“I wanna come,” he says before he can stop himself because he feels like it’s been building all evening, and with Nick’s mouth on him now and his thumb rubbing tiny circles just above his hole, it’s like he’s going mad from it. “C’mon,” he urges again and Nick finally grunts and takes him deeper, allows spit to dribble down Louis’ cock to slick him up, and starts bobbing his head, following along with the tight circle of his fingers. 

He’s good at this, really fucking amazing, and he keeps his eyes trained on Louis, his thin lips shiny, all wet noises and slurping and moaning around Louis’ dick. Louis wants to fuck up into his mouth, but the angle is so off and he’s all spread out on his table, right at the edge of it, unsteady and barely holding himself there, so all he can do is tilt his head back and grip the table harder, feeling sweat gather at his nape, his forehead from the way his orgasm is building. 

He hears Nick shift the stool a bit, hears the scrape of its legs over the floor, and then Nick swallows him down, Louis’ cock squeezing past the tight ridge of his throat; he backs up and goes down again, repeats. Louis opens his mouth and clasps one hand over it, barely holding himself up, grunting into his fingers and then biting down when Nick’s finger presses into him, wiggling, the tip fucking in and out. He shoots down Nick’s throat, body going taut, painfully aware of the way his legs are cramping up and the way the edge of the table is cutting into his arse. 

He hisses when Nick pulls off, still overtly sensitive, and then Nick catches his hip, holding him in place, and, looming closer, kisses him with his finger still inside, moving in tiny thrusts that have Louis’ body shiver in aftershocks. He licks into Nick’s mouth to taste himself and then breaks away, breathing hard, head dizzy. 

“D’you wanna fuck me?” he asks and hooks his ankles around Nick’s knees, pulls him in close, and Nick nods, his mouth red and swollen. 

“Fuck, yeah,” he says and Louis moans again, feels himself tighten around Nick’s finger in anticipation of his cock. Nick, however, pulls away wipes his mouth and adjusts his dick in his jeans. 

“I have to go, though,” he says. 

“What?” Louis asks dumbly; he sits up a bit more, still naked and half-hard, and blinks at Nick. 

“Is your bathroom across the hall?” Nick asks. “I should clean up before I go.” 

Louis wants to ask again, but instead he closes his legs and fumbles for his discarded jeans to cover his lap, suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah. Just. The next door.” 

Nick grins at him, brushes his hair back with his fingers, and leans in for a quick peck to the corner of Louis’ mouth.

“That was fun,” he says, squeezing Louis’ waist. “But really, let’s keep this between us.”

Louis pushes at his chest to get him off and rolls his eyes at him; he’s not. He’s not hurt, he’s not. “Whatever,” he says. “Fuck off, old man.”

“Will do.” Nick grins at him more and then ducks out. Louis gives it a good fifteen minutes; he puts on his pants and sits on the bed by the wall, listening to Nick say his goodbyes out in the hall, hears the laughter, and then when he hears them retreat back into the living room, sneaks into the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

It’s a good thing, he thinks standing with his forehead against the warming tile in the shower, that Nick left; this should remain a two-time thing.

*

Louis kind of skives his lecture the morning after, and wakes with a bleary head to his phone ringing incessantly. He groans and turns onto his back, fumbles for it and picks it up.

“Hey,” Zayn’s voice comes through the speaker, “where are you?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, just a bit impatient, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, trying to re-orient himself, and then remembers. 

“Shit,” he says, “I’m sorry, man, I forgot.” 

Zayn makes a small huffy sound and then replies, “Did you skive off your production lecture again?”

“This is only like, the third time,” Louis grumbles; he crawls out of bed, throwing his phone - set to speaker - on the table and starts looking for some clean pants and socks. “I will be at the shop in fifteen?” 

“You’ve been to the lecture three times this entire term, you mean?” Zayn mocks. Louis can’t quite _hear_ him smoking, but he knows he must be. “I’ll see you in thirty, then,” Zayn continues and Louis pulls a face. 

“Fifteen, man,” he insists even though he knows it’s delusional. 

“Right, right. I’ll tell Ben that you’re late.” There’s the sound of a bell through the speaker, then Zayn talking to a customer. Louis finds a pair of pants and shouts his goodbye at his phone before hanging up and making a dash for the bathroom to have a shower, and gets dressed and presentable in record time. 

He’s still late for his shift anyway, panting as he finally makes it to the shop, his wellies leaving wet footprints on the floors and making squeaky noises. Zayn looks up from his cup of tea and his phone, gives Louis a crooked smile. 

“Hi, sorry,” Louis starts and drops his bag behind the counter, climbing over the little barrier that’s been stuck since he started working here; Ben may be a fun boss, but he’s not big on making investments in his business. 

“I kind of-” Louis waves his hand and then grabs a package of crisps and opens it, his stomach growling. 

“You went out on a Sunday?” Zayn asks, and the disapproving tone in his voice is almost convincing. Louis rolls his eyes at him and then shrugs, leaning against the counter. 

“Harry had a little dinner party. People from work and-” He stops and can’t help but smile, at which Zayn narrows his eyes. 

“And?” Zayn asks. He grabs his pack of cigarette and taps it against the counter to fish one out, lighting it despite the huge handpainted non-smoking sign right above the door of the little shop. 

“Do you remember that guy I told you about? The one from like, four weeks ago?” Louis asks. He stuffs another handful of crisps into his mouth, chewing as Zayn takes a drag and then nods slowly. 

“Louis, you’ve got laid exactly once since you broke up with Aiden,” Zayn comments and tilts his head at him. 

Louis chucks a crisp at him and says, “Shut up. Well-” He stops himself again, quite suddenly remembering Nick’s request to keep it between them, for Louis to not say anything, and with Zayn giving him an expectant look, he suddenly finds himself unable to. “I don’t know. I just randomly remembered him last night. There was a guy at Harry’s place that reminded me of him.”

Zayn makes a tsk-ing noise and shakes his head. “You ran out on him and now you’re suddenly wanting to see him again?”

Louis empties the last crumbs of his snack into his mouth and, chewing, shakes his head, hoping he looks indignant enough to fool Zayn. “I don’t wanna _see_ him again, I just randomly remembered him.” He drops the empty packet on the counter and tilts his chin at Zayn. “So how is Perrie?” he asks to change the subject, and Zayn groans and buries his face in the crook of his elbow, making another pained noise. 

Louis pokes his shoulder and Zayn turns his head a little, nose scrunched up when he looks at Louis. “I sent her a thing on Facebook,” he says. “You know, an invitation to a gig.” 

“And?” Louis opens the minifridge and grabs a cola, pops it open and has a drink. Zayn’s face gets even more ridiculously displeased before he replies, “She hasn’t answered yet. I’d rather she would hit _‘not going’_ than nothing because at least that’d mean that she _thought_ about it.” He stops and sighs. “I know she was online because I saw her liking Jesy’s new tattoo.”

“You’re _creepy_ ,” Louis says, laughing. “Just ask her to go on a date with you. Has she seen the new Thor yet?”

“I’m sure she has,” Zayn replies. He sounds grumpy now and he turns to lean against the counter and lights another cigarette. “It’s been out for like, a week.” He tilts a brow at Louis. “And why don’t you ask your mystery one-night shag out, then?”

Louis flicks him off. “Because I am not in fucking love with that dude. If you don’t message her and ask her to the cinema, then I will do it for you.”

Zayn gives him a look like he knows Louis won’t and the truth is that Louis wouldn’t - not unless Zayn really wanted him to and asked him to - but the thought alone seems enough to have Zayn deflate a little, shrugging finally. “Alright,” he says after another drag from his cigarette. “I’ll text her. Happy?”

“‘s not about me, is it?” Louis smiles at Zayn, who digs his phone out of his pocket and evidently starts scrolling through Facebook. Louis watches for a moment; he suddenly feels a little strange, wistful, and unsurprisingly still sore from last night. 

When he had a shower before running to get the bus, he noticed the bruises on his hips from Nick’s fingers, and on his backside from the table cutting in. He stares at the cola in his hand for a moment, lips pursed, and feels silly for even lingering on it when the whole thing is - _was_ \- nothing more than an extended one night stand. His lingering attachment, he tells himself, arises from nothing more than the fact that he simply hasn’t had a good shag, or any shag at all for that matter, since before he caught Aiden in the video room with his head up some girl’s skirt. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Zayn asks suddenly. “You’re making a funny face.”

Louis frowns and realizes that he’s been staring off into space like a fool, making weird faces. “Nothing,” he says. “A-bsolutely nothing.”

*

Louis doesn’t expect to hear from Nick - even though there is a part of him that really _wants_ to - but he also doesn’t quite expect Harry to keep on rambling on about him and the show and the radio and to seem completely oblivious. Louis thought Harry might suspect something at least because his and Nick’s disappearance Sunday night was anything but smooth, but Harry appears clueless.

He gets up so early most mornings that Louis is asleep for another two hours after Harry even leaves the house, and he usually finds his preferred cup prepped with tea and water in their kettle, and leftover donuts or muffins from Harry’s office pastry run from the previous day. 

On Friday morning, Harry is at the flat though, with the radio blasting, and cooking a full fry up, the kitchen windows steamed up from the heat. Louis stops in the door, yawning, and then pads over to the kitchen table, slumping into a chair. 

“Hi!” Harry calls over the music and flips the sausages in the pan, humming along to the song. 

Louis waves at him and then grabs some toast from the stack on the table and bites into it. “Why aren’t you at work?” he asks with his mouth full and watches Harry pour another cup of tea and hand it over. 

“Nick gave me the day off,” he says, grinning, and grabs the pan from the hob to drop its content onto yet another plate which he places on the table along with the beans and tomatoes and eggs. Louis’ stomach growls hungrily and he takes a sip from his tea, perking up when Harry sits down again and continues, “I stayed in late yesterday, you know, organizing the records-”

“They still have _records_?” Louis interjects, shaking his head, and then grabs the empty plate that Harry hands him. “Are you stuck in the nineties? Is this some kind of _Back to the Future_ shit? Is Nick’s hair actually white?” He stops himself when Harry gives him one those long suffering, deer-eyed looks, and continues without missing a beat, “-organizing the records, so he said that I could have today off. I’m not supposed to be doing overtime as an intern.”

“Yeah, because you also don’t get _paid_ ,” Louis grumbles and stuffs his mouth full with eggs and half a sausage, chewing happily. 

Harry makes another displeased sound, and this time it’s not fake. He grabs some toast and sets to filling up his own plate, pouting at Louis until Louis can’t take it anymore and drops his fork onto his food and, sighing, concedes, “Alright, alright. It’s a great job. I’m jealous. Happy?”

Harry’s face lights up and he takes a huge bite of his toast, nodding. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Louis sets to reply, but suddenly Nick’s voice fills the kitchen and startles him; it’s a bit smoother than he remembers, less drunk, and it makes him go red. “Are you listening to the show right now?” he blurts out and Harry shrugs. 

“I really like it. Nick plays fantastic music and he’s funny.” He rolls his shoulders again and leans back in his chair, plate in his hand and shoveling food into his mouth like he’s starving. “He was pretty funny on Sunday, too, wasn’t he? Did you talk to him?” Harry sounds so genuine that for a moment Louis thinks he’s mocking him until he realizes that Harry really and truly doesn’t have any idea at all, not even the faintest hint of one. 

He gulps down more tea and then nods, pursing his lips. “He’s alright. Thinks he’s a bit more witty than he actually is. But he’s alright.” He flicks his eyes up, but Harry isn’t staring him down inquisitively, attempting to read the inner workings of his mind like Louis was afraid of. 

“He asked for your number, by the way,” Harry says, and that makes Louis choke on his fried mushrooms. He thumps his chest a few times, pretending to have caught too much pepper and then pulls a face at Harry. 

“My number?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Well, not explicitly. They had me put down an emergency contact and I put down yours. Nick suggested it. I hope that’s okay.”

Louis narrows his eyes at him, but then can’t help but smile. “Fine, whatever.”

“Cool,” Harry says, grinning back stupidly, and goes back to his food. He finishes his plate and then knocks back his tea, getting up and stretching, arms over his head. Louis puts down his fork and slides down in his chair a little, feeling full and trying to not to think about the fact that Nick may or may not have manipulated Harry into sharing his number. 

“I’m going to have a food baby,” Harry says and pushes his T-shirt up, cupping his stomach, his butterfly tattoo peeking out from between his fingers.

“Ugh, gross.” Louis sticks his tongue out and _ugh_ ’s at him again. He gets up and starts gathering their dishes together. “You going for a run?” he asks and Harry shakes his head, filling up the dishwasher. 

“Nah,” he says. “I wanted to before breakfast, but then I had a bit of a lie-in. I think I’m going to the gym and do some weights. Maybe Liam’s there. You wanna tag along?”

Louis considers it for a moment, but can’t quite get over the fact that it’d mean having to get dressed and having to leave the flat and not being allowed to skive off uni and lie in bed forever. “I’ll pass,” he says and grins at Harry. “Next time, yeah?”

Harry sighs, long-suffering, and pats Louis’ belly as he walks past. “Better take care of my foodbaby, yeah?” He jumpstarts into a sprint to his room before Louis can lay one on him, and Louis yells after him and then finishes cleaning up the kitchen. By the time he’s done and more crawling than walking back to his room to curl up in bed again, Harry’s got ready for the gym and is leaving with a lot of noise and goodbyes. 

Louis sleeps for another two hours and when he wakes up again, some other DJ has taken over the radio and is hammering away about some boring celebrity issue or another in their kitchen. Louis, bleary from too much sleep now, flicks the kettle on and the radio off, sitting at the kitchen table. He finds some dry toast to chew on, glaring up at the clock that once more reads past noon like it’s mocking him. 

Fridays are usually his lie-in days because his only lecture of the day is one that doesn’t have exams this year, and Louis cannot be bothered to get up at arse o’clock in the morning when the Christmas holidays are only a few weeks away. There's no real point in trying to catch up with everything that he's missed this term already - he's screwed as is, and might as well make the best of it. 

Sighing, he picks himself up from the table and, cup of tea in hand, goes back to his bedroom to get dressed. He fusses about with finding clean clothes for a bit, and then checks his phone which is still neatly hidden under his pillow. Surprisingly, there's a call from an unknown number and Louis squints at the screen, his stomach doing a funny little flip that he wishes it wouldn't do. 

He sits down and scrolls through his missed calls for a moment, then back up and calls the unknown number; his heart is thumping stupidly and he feels sixteen and silly about being excited, but all he gets after a few rings is a generic voicemail message. 

He drops his phone in his lap, lips pursed and then stuffs it back under his pillow, feeling more stupid than before. He shouldn't be expecting anything and he shouldn't be hoping that Nick will call him - he realizes that he's getting attached because he hasn't shagged anyone in months and that there's nothing more to it. 

He brushes his teeth and gets dressed, and then almost falls over his own feet in his hurry to get to his phone once it starts vibrating again. 

"Hello?" he says, sitting down at the foot end of the bed, kicking his feet.

There's nothing for a second and then, "Hi there, it's Nick."

Louis is not surprised, but he inhales sharply anyway, and then clears his throat to say, "Oh, hi, I didn't know it was you."

Nick chuckles and says, "Yeah, I thought you wouldn't. How's it going?"

Louis looks down at his knees and doesn't know what to say for a moment. It's like he's forgotten what normal people talk about and how to engage in small talk. Very belatedly he replies, "I'm quite alright, had a bit of a lie-in. And you? Other than trash talking Rihanna?" He winces at himself, but doesn't elaborate to weaken the statement.

The immediate reaction is a loud laugh, though, and Nick says, "You were listening? Really?"

Louis groans and contemplates slapping himself. "Harry was listening. I was subjected to it unwillingly."

"Fair enough." Nick sounds a little disappointed and Louis wonders if he should throw him a bone, but then decides against it, remembering that Nick has more than enough admirers. 

"He had a morning off, at least he put it to some good use spreading word of the show."

Louis snorts, shaking his head. "He's a hard working intern, he deserved that day off."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Nick says, pauses shortly and then continues, "No, he's a good lad. We're happy to have him. A bit of a partier, though." 

"Coming from you," Louis starts, but doesn't finish, leaving the rest of it up to Nick, tugging a loose thread from his jeans, waiting for Nick to say something, anything really, which Nick does after a moment of awkward silence. 

"Speaking of parties," he starts, and Louis sits up straighter, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. "Are you free tonight? There's a thing. We could go to a thing." 

Louis holds his breath and gives it a heartbeat, then says, "Smooth." He wants to say yes, because he wants to see Nick again - and, well, fuck Nick again too - but he doesn’t want to be immediately available. He's not so naive as not to realize that this is a booty call, and he wants to be in control, too. Just a little. "Actually, I have plans," he lies, wiggling his toes against his rug.

"That's- oh," Nick starts like he expected something entirely different and that nearly makes Louis backtrack and say yes anyway, but he bites his tongue and keeps quiet. 

"That's alright," Nick finishes. He sighs and Louis feels his heart drop; he lies back down with his feet dangling off the bed. 

"I could do tomorrow night?" he suggests. "We could do a thing tomorrow night."

"Do a thing?" Nick mocks, but his voice goes up funnily at the end in a way that gives Louis a flippy stomach again. "Alright, then it is a thing tomorrow night. Do you want to come to mine?"

"Great. Yeah, sure." Louis clears his throat and fits his hand over his collarbone and throat, feeling his heart race stupidly. "I'm a big fan of things."

Nick laughs again. "My thing is pretty great. You'll be impressed. By my thing."

"Sod off," Louis laughs back, shaking his head. "Should we do seven?”

Nick hums, sounding contemplative, and says, “Yeah, seven’s good. We could have dinner. Do you still remember where I live?”

Louis rolls his eyes at thin air; he really doesn’t. He barely remembers stumbling down the stairs to Nick’s flat, let alone his address. “You put us in a taxi and then walked me straight to your bed. All I remember is Primrose Hill,” he finally says. 

“You make it sound so romantic,” Nick comments dryly. Louis makes a little amused sound, trying to recall details of Nick’s flat, but finds that he can’t remember the color of the sofa or the way from the living room to the bedroom. Most of what he does remember involves Nick’s skin against his own, the press of their bodies together, and it makes him tingly and impatient. 

“Just text me your address,” he says, tapping his toe against the rug. “And I’ll find my way. Promise.”

“Alright, will do,” Nick says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. At seven, yeah?”

Louis smiles, biting his lip. “Seven, yeah. Bye.” He hangs up before Nick can say anything else, before his nervousness is tickled out of him by Nick’s voice.

*

He rings Zayn later that day, and they hang out at Zayn’s little flat, playing video games and re-watching old Batman films, until Louis is so tired he falls asleep on the sofa, curled up on his side, with Zayn sitting by his legs, still watching telly. He wakes to a text from Harry inquiring his whereabouts, and Zayn on the phone in the tiny kitchenette, perched on the worktop, with his chin in the palm of his hand, grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah,” he says, and then, “yeah, yeah, that’d be chill. I can pick you up?” He pauses, looks down, hair in his face, and apparently senses Louis watching him because he grins at him. “Oh, yeah, we can meet there, yeah. Okay, cool, cool. I’ll see ya.” He hangs up and gives Louis a thumbs up, jumping down from the counter. 

“She said yes,” Zayn says and Louis rubs his eyes and then cheers, raising his hand when Zayn high-fives him. “Can’t believe it. I’m meeting her tomorrow.” His grin is impossible wide and Louis claps his shoulder, smiling back at him. 

“Well done, man. Knew she’d say yes.” He yawns and sits up more, stretching his legs out, body feeling stiff. It’s almost dark outside already, and he’s slept through the afternoon and feels strangely wound up, with the anticipation of tomorrow humming loudly inside of him. 

“D’you wanna get smashed tonight?” he asks. “I could ring Harry and Liam. Celebrate you getting some.”

Zayn gives him a look, brows raised, and then frowns like he does when he’s truly displeased. “‘s not about getting some. I really like her.”

“Gross, gross,” Louis calls out and then pushes at him, making a dash for the kitchen, grabbing his phone on the way to text Harry to come by. Zayn yells after him, but Louis ignores him, grabbing a few beers as he circles back to the sofa. 

He’s suddenly nervous about tomorrow all over again - getting drunk and hopefully a little high tonight seems like the very best option to defeating the feeling. 

“Cheers!” he says and opens a beer, grinning at Zayn.

*

He doesn’t find Nick’s flat as easily as he’d thought he would and ends up wandering around Primrose Hill for longer than necessary before he finally gives up and consults his phone for help.

Walking through a neighborhood that’s so vastly different from his own, that’s green and lush and really fucking posh, makes him truly realize for the first time who Nick is. It’s not like Louis follows all the gossip on the telly or the Sun and he doesn’t buy teenie mags either, but not only does Harry eat into that shit like it’s sugar, he’s been talking about Nick non-stop for the past few weeks - about who Nick has met recently, about who Nick introduced him to at work, who Nick is friends with. If Louis didn’t want to get into Nick’s pants so badly, he figures he’d be bloody jealous at this point. 

He rounds another corner, buried deeply into his jacket, and finally finds the all-too familiar stairs leading down to Nick’s flat. There’s a light on in the window, a little candle, and Louis stops and stares for a second, his insides in a knot. He climbs down the stairs and knocks, and then rings the doorbell when nobody opens. It’s shrill and he winces at it, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other until Nick finally opens the door, grinning and in a green checkered apron. 

“Hi,” Louis says and smiles at him, tilting his head up, and Nick makes a delighted sound and smiles back. Louis considers stepping closer and kissing the corner of his mouth as a hello, but quickly discards of the idea again when Nick makes a grand gesture and ushers him inside without so much as touching him. 

“Hey, I didn’t recognize you from the window,” Nick says. He closes the door and Louis frowns at him, puzzled, to which Nick explains, “Your jacket and all. A bit big.”

“Oh.” Louis shrugs out of it and hangs it on the dresser before toeing off his shoes. “It’s Harry’s, I kind of- uhm, left mine at somebody’s place last weekend.” That’s not entirely true, but it also sounds better than admitting that he probably drunkenly lost it by the Thames, and the way Nick’s mouth sort of quirks up curiously makes the fib worth it.

“So, that’s a thing you do, huh?” he says, head tilted, and Louis shrugs a little, giving him a cheeky smile. 

“Sometimes, maybe,” he replies and ducks past Nick into the living room; it smells like food, cheese and something baking, and Louis’ stomach growls, his mouth watering. “Smells amazing!” he says and tries not to linger on the fact that Nick _made food_ , that he invited Louis over and _cooked_ , and tries not to interpret it as anything other than Nick being a good host. 

“Yeah,” Nick says, catching up, closing the door to the front hall. “I made some goat cheese and spinach pizza.” He steps into the open kitchen and messes with the oven, and Louis squints at him and attempts to make a delighted sound but apparently can’t quite manage because Nick looks up at him, rolling his eyes. 

“Your half has salami and mozzarella cheese,” he says like he was waiting for Louis to pull a face. “I thought you might not be a feta kind of guy.” 

Louis scrunches up his nose and feebly tries to find something nice to say about feta, but can’t really. He settles for biting his lip and shrugging, feeling young and stupid in the face of Nick’s evidently more sophisticated food preferences. Nick smiles at him fondly, though, and puts the tray on the worktop, its steaming content teasing a pleased hum from Louis. 

“Yum,” he says and steps closer, leaning in to inhale. “I can’t believe you made pizza. I didn’t even know that was a thing people still did.” He pulls himself up on one of the bar stools, feet crossed at the ankles. “Putting in quite the effort, Grimshaw.”

Nick snorts and starts cutting the pizza up, then spins around to grab a bottle of wine and two beers from the fridge. “I decided,” he starts, setting the beer in front of Louis and pouring himself a glass of white wine, “that if I’m gonna shag you, I might as well wine and dine you as is proper.” He smirks at Louis, self-assured and unwavering and toasts him with this glass before taking a sip, never taking his eyes off him. 

He suddenly appears much like a large cat, fixating its prey, and the decisiveness in his voice makes Louis’ cheeks heat up despite himself. “Is that so?” he retorts and cracks his beer open. “Wining and dining and then shagging. It seems like you’ve got it all worked out.” He sips his beer, body suddenly tingly with excitement; he likes the way Nick is looking at him and he likes that there’s no dancing around the fact that this is - ultimately - exactly what he came here for, yet he doesn’t feel like giving in too easily. “We’ll see,” he says, cocking a brow. “I’d like to try some of that pizza now, yeah?” 

“That’s what I made it for,” Nick says smoothly. He grabs the tray with a dishtowel and his wine glass with the other, balancing both precariously for a moment until Louis gets up and plucks the glass from his hand, carrying it for him to the large, antique table by the patio doors where Nick has already laid out plates and cutlery. It seems like a table Nick picked up at a charity shop, somewhere in some little village where they’ve never heard of Nick Grimshaw, and Louis sits in one of the mismatched chairs, rubbing his thumb over the uneven surface. 

“Harry’d like this,” he absently says and then catches himself when Nick chuckles, his voice suddenly slipping into radio mode. “He does. Tried to chat me into giving it to him. Nearly did.”

Louis smiles at that, quickly hiding behind his beer again. “He’s kinda good at that, isn’t he. I do hope you’re making him work hard.”

“Oh, so _hard_ ,” Nick comments, obviously mocking but Louis narrows his eyes at him anyway, nudging his shin with his foot under the table. He grabs a square slice of pizza without asking and bites into it still glaring at Nick, and then says around it, “‘s gross. This is good, though.”

“I am massively impressed by your impeccable table manners,” Nick comments, sounding entirely unimpressed. 

Louis shrugs, pleased, and finishes his piece in one large bite, reaching for another without pausing; it’s greasy and perfect and the dough tastes homemade. It makes him imagine Nick in the kitchen kneading it, and he looks up to find Nick watching him, his mouth half open as though he was going to say something, his eyes wide. 

“What?” he asks, smirking, and licks his fingers clean, sucking at his thumb, smirking. Nick puts his wine down with a bit too much force and grabs his own slice. He starts eating, no more gracefully than Louis previously did, chewing like he’s got something to prove. 

“Massively impressed by your table manners,” Louis mocks, leaning back and sipping from his beer. 

“You’ve got a mean streak, don’t you?” Nick asks. “Does Harry usually keep you locked up in your room until he needs some venom?”

“Yes,” Louis says dryly. “This is exactly it. Or when he’s got coworkers over who need a dick to suck.” The last bit slips out before he can stop himself and it’s cruder than he meant for it to be, and he pulls a face, flicking his eyes to meet Nick’s. “I mean-” He shrugs and doesn’t know how to back away without making a fool of himself, feeling terrible for putting his foot in his mouth at the very first chance. 

But Nick just breaks into a laugh, dropping his pizza slice onto his plate, and reaches for his wine; he looks bloody delighted, eyes shining, and cheeks a bit flushed. “You’re so rude,” he says but doesn’t sound like he means it, voice breaking at the end with amusement. “I kinda like it.” 

Louis does his best to not look relieved, but the look on Nick’s face tells him that he’s not succeeding. “Just saying it as it is,” he says lamely and empties his beer quickly. 

“Yeah.” Nick takes another sip of his wine. “That’s what I mean. I like that.” 

Louis shrugs and suddenly feels self-conscious under Nick’s almost scrutinizing stare. “I’ll get another beer, is that okay?” he asks and moves to get up, but Nick touches his arm and stops him. 

“Sit,” he says, then gets up and grabs the second beer from the worktop and hands it to Louis. “I wasn’t as hospitable as I should’ve been last time you were here,” he continues with a spark in his eyes. 

“Well, I wasn’t a very good guest either. I think I walked sludge all over your floors, but I can’t quite remember.”

“You made up for it in other ways.” Nick scoots back with his chair a little and pulls his leg up, crossing over his knee at his ankle, his glass of wine tilted in his hand. It doesn’t sound half as suggestive or pushy as Louis would expect it to from anybody else, more like a statement of a fact, and Nick’s expression is gentle. Louis supposes he can roll with that.

“Good, ‘cause I am _shit_ at cleaning, just ask Harry.” He tips his head back in another sip, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He constantly has to tidy up after me.” He sets his can down, tilted, balancing the top between his fingers, then suddenly remembers. “Oh, hey, where’s your dog? I forgot his name.”

“Puppy,” Nick says and turns to look at the door. “She’s with my friend Aimee tonight, probably getting spoiled and eating lots of snackies she shouldn’t be having.”

“She’s cute,” Louis says smiling. He remembers stumbling inside, clinging tightly to Nick’s arm when a little ball of wiggly fur propelled itself at the both of them, excitedly yapping, and remembers waking up in the middle of the night to said ball of fur climbing up on the bed to lie between them. “I think we made an instant connection. Doggy soulmate and stuff.”

“You a dog person then?” Nick asks and Louis nods. 

“Yeah, reckon I am. I like cats too, though.” He shrugs and pulls one of his legs up and hooks his arm around it. “I used to have a dog when I was little, but after he passed away we didn’t get other pets because the twins turned out to be allergic to all sorts of animal hair. It’s cool that you have a dog.”

“Yeah?” Nick nods slowly. “So the twins are your-?”

“Sisters,” Louis elaborates. “Daisy and Phoebe, they’re nine, and then there’s Lottie, she’s the oldest, and Fizzy right in the middle.” He waves his hand about a little, unsure how to explain everything without talking forever.

“Big family then, eh? And you’re the oldest, too.” Nick smiles. “I’m the youngest. Got one sister who’s eleven years older, and a brother at thirteen years older.”

Louis ‘aww’s at him overdramatically and has another sip of his beer. Thoughtfully he says, “I’m not surprised you’re the baby of the family. You seem like you’re used to everybody pampering you.” 

“Oh, come on, love,” Nick whines playfully. “Do I really? I _am_ hardworking, you know?” 

“Of course you are,” Louis teases. He likes this, the way Nick goes with everything so smoothly and effortlessly, doesn’t seem too fazed by anything Louis says. 

“I made you dinner, Tomlinson, and I’ve given you booze and made sure the dog won’t try and hump your leg. I’m being really good here,” Nick grumbles; he gets up and starts gathering the dishes, then pokes Louis’ cheek. 

“The dog won’t,” Louis shoots back, “but I have a feeling you will.”

“Not your leg!” Nick laughs and carries the plates to the sink; Louis, feeling useless, grabs the pizza tray and follows, setting it back in the oven. 

“D’you want me to do the washing up?” he asks and Nick snorts and shakes his head at him like he’s just asked for a ride to the moon and back. 

“What washing up?” He pops the dishwasher open and jams the plates in between the other dirty dishes and kicks it shut. “There, all done. Go sit on the sofa and be a good boy while I get pudding ready.”

“Oooh.” Louis perks up and tries to sneak a glance over Nick’s shoulder, holding onto his waist when Nick starts digging in the fridge again, until Nick turns and pokes his chest with one long finger and sternly says, “Sofa.” 

Louis slinks away, buzzing a little, and flops down on the sofa; he finds the remote control and turns on the telly, settling on a very premature Christmas film. Nick joins him only moments later with a tray full of more beers and wine and little shop bought desserts in glass containers. 

“I can’t actually bake,” Nick admits; he sits crosslegged on the sofa and hands Louis a cheesecake and a spoon. “But these are my favorite.”

“I love cheesecake,” Louis says, mouth watering, and digs in; they eat in relative silence for a few minutes and Louis finishes his cake, washing it down with more beer. He’s starting to feel the alcohol a little, a warm and pleasant background noise inside him that makes him want to press closer to Nick and kiss him. He watches Nick lick his spoon clean and set the little dish aside, then puts his can away too and climbs into Nick’s lap without further inquiries. 

“Oof,” Nick says, but slides his hands up Louis’ thighs and cups his arse through his jeans. “You’re kind of heavy.”

“You like it.” Louis rocks down a bit just to be a tease and then rubs his nose against Nick’s. “So,” he starts. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Nick grins up at him and Louis kisses him gently, nipping at his lower lip until Nick opens up. He’s a good kisser - still - and his hands on Louis’ arse are helping matters along. It’s sweet and slow and Nick seems to give Louis time to explore until he starts kissing him properly, moaning up into Louis’ mouth and pressing closer. 

Louis pulls away, cheeks feeling hot, to say, “So now that you’ve- what did you call it before? Wining, dining and then shagging? Is that how the schedule works?”

“Schedule,” Nick repeats, pulling a face. “You’re making it sound like I planned this whole thing through.” 

“Didn’t you?” Louis tilts his head curiously and traces his hand up Nick’s shoulder to where it meets his neck, playing with the collar of his unbuttoned shirt with his other hand. 

“A little,” Nick admits. He tilts his head up and kisses Louis chin, then the corner of his mouth, squeezing his arse. “Though you don’t seem very high-maintenance. Give you a pint and you’re a happy pup, hm?”

“Fuck you,” Louis says softly but leans in and bites Nick’s neck until Nick yelps and slaps his bum. Louis pulls off, hissing when Nick does it again.

“What?” Nick retorts. He shifts a little bit and before Louis can stop it, Nick is pressing him spread eagle into the sofa, fitting his ridiculously narrow hips between Louis’ thighs, his hands on Louis’ hips. “You want a night out at a posh restaurant? Drink over-prized wine and-”

Louis shuts him up with a kiss, tugging Nick down by his hair and crushing their mouths together. He squeezes his thighs around Nick’s hips and groans, shifts up and digs his heels into Nick’s calves. Nick kisses back roughly, possessive and hard, half-laughing into Louis’ mouth which makes Louis only kiss him more. He suddenly feels like he ought to prove something to Nick, that he’s not as easy as Nick thinks he is, but then Nick rolls his hips down and sneaks a hand under Louis’ shirt to tease over his nipples, and Louis sort of loses his train of thought, breaking away to inhale sharply when Nick starts tweaking Louis’ nipple between his forefinger and middle finger. 

“Here-” Nick sits back and rucks Louis’ T-shirt up a little. “Take this off?” 

Louis scoots up the couch and wiggles out of it, tossing it to the side. He gives Nick a scathing look anyway and says, “You move fast, Grimshaw.” He tilts his chin up in defiance when Nick only cocks a brow at him, the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement. “Don’t just _look_.”

Nick hums and draws a line from the waistband of Louis’ underwear, peeking out from under his jeans, up to his navel, softly poking his tummy. “Your turn,” he says and shrugs out of his shirt. His hair is still perfect and styled, fluffed up at the front and in place even though Louis thought he’d messed it up when they kissed; it bothers him suddenly that it’s doing that, that he must look like a snogged mess, with his hair in his forehead and his cheeks red, and he sits up and digs his fingers into Nick’s hair, ruffles it up nice before Nick can protest. 

“You little-” he starts and Louis laughs and climbs out from under him, half-tripping over the couch table as he scuttles away toward where he thinks he remembers the bedroom. He makes it to the door and all the way up the stairs before Nick catches him around the waist and they go tumbling into the room with Louis trying to judo-roll Nick over his back and Nick clutching at him, laughing. 

The room is much smaller than Louis remembers and he hits the bed barely three steps in and falls, pulling Nick down on top of him and kissing him until their breathing has calmed down and the quiet darkness is suddenly filled with the sounds of their mouths. Their positioning is off and getting worse, and Louis breaks away and pulls himself up the bed more before he actually falls off, undoing his flies at the same time. 

Nick smirks at him and follows, illuminated by the light from the stairs. “I see,” he says. “So that’s where you wanted to end up at, huh?”

Louis knows he’s teasing, but he’s growing a little impatient, wanting to get his mouth on Nick’s cock already. “I didn’t wanna shag on the couch,” he says bluntly. “This is more comfortable.” He twists his upper body a little and flicks on the lamp on the bedside table, then takes off his jeans, pants and socks, grinning at Nick. The bedroom is cooler than the rest of the flat and he feels goosebumps rise on his arms and his thighs; he sits up on his knees and gently rubs his balls, then rubs his hand around his cock, squeezing as it starts fattening up in his hand, displaying himself for Nick. “Did you wanna shag on the couch?”

“Jesus,” Nick breathes. His lips are slightly parted and he’s staring, and Louis loves it. He lets go of his cock and walks toward Nick on all fours, looking up at him, stops when he can slide his hands up Nick’s thighs toward his crotch. 

“Louis,” Nick says; his voice sounds a bit hoarse and his hips twitch up when Louis presses his thumbs against the outline of his cock in his skintight jeans. 

“D’you want me to suck your dick, Nicholas?” Louis asks and licks his lips, ghosts his fingers up to toy with the button on Nick’s trousers. 

“I’d like that, yeah, yes.” Nick sits back against his heels and Louis closes his eyes and leans in. He nudges his nose against Nick’s cock through the fabric of his jeans, opens his mouth around the outline and breathes the scent in, feeling Nick’s fingers thread into his hair. Nick’s doesn’t tug, though, just holds on, and Louis undoes his flies a little awkwardly, face still half-pressed into his crotch. 

It takes a bit more wiggling and Nick groaning loudly, hissing, for Louis to tuck the waistband of Nick’s pants down and pull his cock out, his jeans impossibly tight. He smells amazing, heavy and earthy and clean in the best possible way, and his cock is already fat, filling up when Louis wraps both hands around it. He’s bigger than Louis remembers, the head gleaning out from under the foreskin, and for a moment Louis wonders how he ever managed to deep-throat him. 

He shakes the thought and ducks down, wraps his lips around the crown and sucks, rubbing his hands down at the same time; Nick bucks up again, groaning loudly, and Louis strains to look up at him while he slides his mouth down on his cock, pulling away only to dribble some spit over it to ease the friction. 

He builds a rhythm quickly, his own cock hanging hard between his legs, and Nick’s fingers pressing against his scalp, jerking Nick a little roughly every time he pulls back, only barely gagging every time Nick tries to press in more deeply. 

He works down on it, eyes closed, and trying to breathe slowly, until he feels the head snag against his throat and he can pull one hand away, until Nick’s voice breaks with every moan and his thighs tense under Louis’ elbows. He takes him in a bit deeper, feeling his stomach clench with the urge to gag and pull away, but presses closer, eyes watering, sucking hard with his tongue cushioned against the stiff outline of Nick’s dick. 

“Fuck,” Nick grunts and Louis cradles his balls in his free hand, rolls them between his fingers, trying to count down in his head until he _needs_ to breathe and pulls away, latching onto the head of Nick’s cock with his lips, licking over it until Nick yelps his name and his cock jerks in Louis’ hand and spills all over his chin. 

“Ugh,” he grunts and pulls away, wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand; his lips feel raw and his throat _hurts_ and he feels open and needy in the way that only sex can make him feel. Nick doesn’t let him dwell on it, though; he bounces Louis and sprawls over him, kissing into his mouth like he’s hungry. Louis kisses back, arms wrapped tightly around Nick’s shoulders and keeps his breathing focused, holding his arse planted firmly against the bed until he _has_ to roll his hips up for friction. 

“Nick,” he moans against Nick’s mouth. “Nick please do something-”

“Something?” The attempt to sound nonchalant is obvious, but Nick’s voice betrays him, breaking a little, hoarse. He makes a pained sound and sits up to take off his jeans and briefs, climbs back over Louis, framing his head with his arms. 

Like this, he suddenly seems much bigger than Louis, a bit wider, even though it never occurred to Louis that he was anything but tall and lanky. He bites his lip and slides his hands up Nick’s chest to his shoulders, into his hair, gripping until Nick finally gets the hint and kisses him again. 

It’s suddenly different, desperate and fast, and Louis arches up, moaning, and lets his legs fall open to frame Nick’s hips. 

“Can you go again?” he asks between kisses and Nick nods frantically, wedging one hand between the mattress and Louis’ arse to squeeze it. 

“Fuck, yeah, I wanna fuck you,” mumbles against his mouth, and it shouldn’t really be sexy because talking against another person’s mouth isn’t, but this is for the oddest reason and Louis rocks up again, whining because he can’t quite find the words to tell Nick how much he wants - needs - that to happen within the next three minutes if possible. 

“C’mon,” he manages finally, pushing Nick off feebly, but instead of going for the condoms and the lube in the nightstand, Nick slides down his body, leaving wet kisses and little bites on his way down. Louis holds his breath and shifts his legs apart more, cock leaking a bubble of precome against his tummy when Nick’s mouth brushes his hip. 

“Nick, _please_ ,” he insists and Nick chuckles against his skin, bites his hip, but doesn’t touch his cock. He looks up at Louis, eyes huge, dark, and ghosts his hand down the back of Louis’ thigh between Louis’ legs to rub his balls and cock. Louis moans loudly and dips his head back, tugging at Nick’s hair, and Nick slides his hand lower again, teasing over Louis’ hole with two fingers. 

He keeps rubbing at it until Louis thinks he’s going to hyperventilate from _wanting_ more, and then presses closer until Louis can feel his light stubble against his skin, feels him nudge against his thigh. He grips Louis’ thighs again and hoists him up a bit, and Louis helps, tilting his hips up, heart hammering hard in his chest. 

He shivers at the first flick of Nick’s tongue against his taint, digs his hands into the duvet when it rubs over his rim and sobs out a moan when Nick teases around it. His fingers are digging into Louis’ thighs where he’s holding him open and Louis knows he’ll probably bruise a little come morning, but doesn’t linger on the thought because Nick makes a pleased sound and wiggles his tongue closer, letting it catch against Louis’ hole over and over until Louis feels himself loosen up, feels his body relax more. 

He grunts when Nick licks into him little by little, body contracting with every time, wanting to be filled already. It takes Nick another few moments of Louis rutting up against his tongue and moaning, to get it, but he wiggles a finger inside, licking over his hole to get him more wet, and thrusts inside. 

Louis tightens around him, groaning, and Nick pulls away again, sitting back. His face is all red, lips swollen, and he rubs his hand up Louis’ thigh soothingly. 

“Should’ve planned this better,” he says. He climbs up the bed and Louis watches him rummage around in the nightstand before he produces a bottle of lube and a condom. 

“Hurry up,” he says; his voice is higher, a bit rough, and his body is buzzing. He reaches down and palms his own cock, shivering when he rubs over the head. “Fuck me already.”

“Pushy.” Nick tuts and shakes his head, but Louis can see he’s fully hard again. He sits up and leans in closer to kiss the tip of Nick’s cock, sighing at the taste, moaning around it. Nick makes a strangled noise, thigh tensing under Louis’ hand like he’s thinking about just fucking Louis’ mouth again so Louis pulls away and flips over onto his belly, pulling himself up onto his elbows and knees, back curved. He looks over his shoulder, hips twitching involuntarily, and wiggles his bum in Nick’s face. 

“Come _on_ ,” he says again and hides his head between his arms. Nick curses, seems to struggle with the lube for a moment. Louis keeps his eyes closed and his breathing even and listens to the rush of blood in his ears, the way his heart is beating so, so fast, and yelps when lube starts dripping down his crack, cold and slick. 

“There.” Nick doesn’t elaborate but he pushes a finger into him, fucking it in and out, quicker and harder each time until Louis can’t help but mewl with every thrust, half-squeaking when Nick pushes in a second one alongside. He keeps going like that, building a rhythm while Louis feels his body adapt and go soft, cling to Nick’s fingers with every thrust. Nick works in a third, slowly and carefully; Louis hisses and rocks back against them, wanting to be in charge of the sting. It takes a second for him to adapt and Nick shifts closer, pressing a kiss to the small of Louis’ back, moving his fingers slowly. 

“Yeah,” Louis grunts. He barely recognizes his own voice and has to bite his lip when Nick starts fucking his fingers into him faster. His cock is still hard and stiff between his legs, untouched yet leaking, and Louis whines into the duvet and reaches back with one hand to wrap it around the base of it. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Nick says. Louis nods quickly, listens to the rustle of plastic, Nick hissing when he puts on the condom, and holds his breath when Nick’s cock presses between his cheeks. 

He doesn’t push in immediately, rather rubs the head over Louis’ hole a few times, allows it to drag over and catch, and Louis wants to shout at him and beg to be fucked already, but all he manages is a pathetic wheeze. 

“Let me hear you,” Nick says. He presses the head of his dick in a bit more and Louis rocks back against it when it squeezes past the rim of his hole. He shakes his head but moans Nick’s name anyway, turning his head to the side a little, breathing fast. 

His body is hot and there’s sweat gathering at the back of his neck. “Nick,” he mewls. “Fuck me, c’mon, fuck me-” 

Nick moans, strangled and harsh, and dicks into him, gripping his hips tightly, and Louis collapses against the bed, face turned to the side, moaning with every breath. He feels _full_ in the best way possible and when Nick pulls out and fucks back inside, shifting both of them to properly thrust in, his entire body shakes with it. Nick’s cock rubs past his prostate once every third or fourth stroke and he clenches down around him, his balls drawn up tight and his cock leaking. 

He curls his hand into a fist and moans again, louder, breaking open from the drag of Nick’s dick inside of him, the heat of Nick’s body pressed tightly against his own. They find a rhythm only a moment later, their paces locked together, with Louis rolling back against Nick every time Nick thrusts into him, Nick’s chest plastered against Louis’ back, sticky and hot, his mouth brushing Louis’ ear. 

He keeps whispering dirty nothings, obscenities that get lost in the staccato of Louis’ breathing, his arm wrapped tightly around Louis’ chest. 

“Lou,” he grunts. “Lou, c’mon-” He sits back and pulls Louis with him and Louis settles his thighs alongside Nick’s, sinking back down into Nick’s lap and onto his cock, letting his head to fall back against Nick’s shoulder. 

“Shit,” he swears. Nick drags his hands over Louis’ chest and stomach, cups his balls with one hand and his cock with the other and rocks up into him. 

“You gonna come?” he asks and Louis nods erratically, body going taut. Nick wraps his hand around his cock and strokes up, rubs his thumb over the slick head, and Louis shivers, sobs out hoarsely and comes, spurting over Nick’s hands and his stomach, toes hot and cold at the same time where his feet are curled against Nick’s thighs, skin overtly sensitive. He exhales, throat dry, and rubs his hands up Nick’s arms, squeezing gently, encouraging.

Nick thrusts up a couple of more times and buries his face in Louis’ neck; Louis feels him freeze and moan, feels him come and rides him through it in tiny circles until Nick sighs deeply and gently pushes him off to lay them both down. 

Louis is _spent_ and he feels dirty and sweaty and wonderful, muscles aching already. He turns around in Nick’s arms and wraps his own around Nick’s neck, kissing his chin. 

“You a cuddler, hm?” Nick asks and pulls him closer, throwing one leg over Louis’ thighs. 

“So’re you. It all works out quite well.” He smiles against Nick’s neck, sighing when Nick rubs his the small of his back. 

“We’re going to have to get under the covers at some point,” Nick eventually says. “Because we’re going to be freezing.” 

Louis hums at that, starts playing with the small hairs on Nick’s nape. “Don’t wanna move,” he mumbles, kisses Nick’s neck. “But we could go have a shower,” he suggests, pulling away to look up at him.

“A shower?” Nick cocks a brow and Louis nods. 

“A _shower_.” He wiggles his brows at Nick and Nick laughs, face open and delighted. “Chase you there, yeah?” Louis says and detangles himself from Nick’s arm, mourning the loss shortly, and jogging down the stairs with Nick on his heels.

*

They spend Sunday morning drinking tea together and having a small breakfast, until Louis decides it’s time to go home. He kisses Nick in the hall, holds onto his collar and tiptoes to reach, and his heart speeds up the tiniest bit when Nick kisses back and nudges his nose against Louis’ after he pulls away to say goodbye.

Nick doesn’t call and Louis doesn’t either and that’s actually quite alright, Louis tells himself. There’s no adding on Facebook or poking or status stalking, which are all things that, Louis realizes, have made him restless before. 

He spends the week doing actual uni work, finishing a few of the essays he’s been given an extended deadline for, and listens to Zayn talk extensively about Perrie and why he thinks she’s into him just as much as he’s into her during their shared shifts at the shop. 

Harry stays at the radio late on Monday and then again on Tuesday; he comes home very tipsy Tuesday, falling on top of Louis on the couch and cuddling under the blankets with him to tell him more stories of work, the people he’s met and who invited him to lunch and the funny things Nick said on the radio as if Louis hadn’t been listening. 

Louis nods along, half-asleep, until Harry pokes him and then takes his cheeks between his hands and squeezes before letting go again. “Tomlinson,” he says, “you’re not listening.”

Louis grins up at him lazily. “Nope, you’re boring.” He pokes him back and Harry pouts at him. 

“You’ve been really quiet,” he suddenly says, head tilted, and Louis rolls his eyes at him, feeling caught. 

“You’ve barely seen me since Saturday,” he starts. “You’re all busy being important on the radio and getting a proper job.” He grins and nudges Harry with his toe. “We just haven’t head time to talk, is all.” Harry gives him a look that makes Louis want to tell him everything and he has to bite his tongue to keep quiet; it’s so strange not to be telling Harry every little detail, not to be feeding him with teasing material or laughing with him about Nick’s occasional snoring. Louis _wants_ to, but he finds he can’t because he promised Nick he wouldn’t. 

“Hm?” Harry blinks at him and Louis shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says and flops onto his back, his feet in Harry’s lap. “Should we watch a film, order a pizza?” He presses his socked toes against Harry’s stomach and Harry’s catches his foot, rubbing in with his thumbs. 

“Do I get to pick the film?” he asks and Louis shakes his head, fishing for the remote control on the floor. 

“Never!” he announces. “But you are in charge of food.”

They spend the rest of the evening on the couch with Titanic on, and Louis falls asleep that night, oddly exhausted for no reason at all. The rest of the week continues in much the same pattern, and Louis is surprised by how much get manages to get done when he’s trying his best to distract himself. 

It’s only when Nick finally texts him Friday afternoon that Louis realizes that he’s actually been itching for a message or a call. 

_Hiya, are you doing anything fun tonight? :)_ it reads. Louis gnaws at his thumb and texts back, _Don’t know, you maybe? ;)_. He hits send before he can change his mind, and Nick’s reply is quick: _Cheeky. Wanna come over?_. 

There’s far less talk this time, but Louis doesn’t mind. He crowds Nick against the dresser in the hall as soon as the door is closed and kisses him silly, and they bicker like preschoolers, stumbling to the bedroom, laughing and trying to get each other’s clothes off at the same time. 

There’s no food, but Nick’s sheets are clean like he’s just freshly made his bed and the heating in the bedroom is on this time. Louis rides him until his thighs threaten to give out, aching to be filled, and they come at almost the same time, with Nick’s hand on Louis’ cock and their lips locked. 

He stays the night and sucks Nick off first thing in the morning, lets him come in his mouth and asks for a handjob with his nose pressed into the crook of Nick’s neck, clinging tightly, inhaling his scent and holding on. 

They shower together, quiet and touching each other, kissing carefully and slowly under the stream like it’s the first time they’ve seen each other in the nude. Later, Nick, lounging on the bed, wrapped in a ridiculous polka dotted dressing gown, watches as Louis gets ready to leave.

“That thing is hideous,” Louis says, sitting on the bed next to him to put on his socks. “Truly hideous.” 

Nick scrunches up his nose and seems genuinely offended for a moment. “It’s Aimee’s, and it’s amazing and warm and fluffy. You can borrow it next time,” he says. 

Louis feels his brows rise at that, but delays his reply by a few seconds so as to seem neither too eager nor too surprised. “Next time, eh?”

Nick shrugs. He keeps his eyes locked on Louis and says, “Yeah, if you fancy that?” He stops again, then suddenly examines his nails. “You could stay over during a weekday, if you want. I have to get up very early, as you know, but I’ll just leave the door unlocked and you just leave whenever you’re up?” 

Louis opens and closes his mouth, nods slowly. “Yeah, I mean, if that’s alright with you? I guess I can get up with you, too.” 

“Nah,” Nick says. “I leave for the station at six. Just make sure the door’s shut, and it should be fine. And that’s a yes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis echoes, then catches himself and repeats, more self-assured, “Yeah, sure!” 

“Great,” Nick says; he grins up at Louis, eyes sparkling, hair a wet, unstyled mess. “Should we do Tuesday?”

“Yeah, I’ll check my uni timetable and let you know, okay?” Louis knows his timetable off by heart - he’s worked hard to sign up for lectures not too early in the morning in the hopes of missing less than the years before, and even though that may not always have worked, there’s no conflict with Tuesday. It’s just that he doesn’t want to be easily available and the fact that Nick would invite him over for a weekday is unprecedented and maybe a little scary. “I think it should work out, though.” 

“Sure,” Nick says. He looks _warm_ and all Louis wants to do is take his clothes off again and crawl back into bed with him instead of going out into the cold London November. 

They kiss goodbye in the doorway between the hall and the kitchen, with Nick’s hand in Louis’ hair, nearly pulling his beanie off. 

“Hey, bye,” Nick whispers and Louis kisses him again, short and a bit harder than he’d planned, before leaving.

*

Harry’s home when he gets there, lounging in black shorts in the kitchen, drinking tea. He looks up when Louis comes in, gives him a very obvious once over and puts his cup down.

“You’re showered,” he states and Louis shrugs and pretends he doesn’t know what Harry is talking about, heading straight for the kettle and flicking it on. 

“Yes, that’s a thing people do to get clean,” he says, feeling a bit lame, and Harry’s mouth quirks up. He stretches his legs, toes curling, and then his arms over his head, long torso curving. 

“Yeah, and after like, sex,” he says. 

Louis pours himself a cup, stirring, and leans against the kitchen worktop. “You must be one dirty mofo if you only shower after sex.” 

Harry’s face pulls into the expression of frustration and amusement he so often gets around Louis, and he says, “You know what I mean. Who’d you stay with?”

Louis shrugs and hides behind his cup. He doesn’t want to lie to Harry, but not only does suddenly blurting out that he’s fucked Harry’s boss and is planning to do it again in less than three day’s time, at this point seem really terrible, his agreement with Nick still seems to be valid. 

“Just some guy,” he finally says. “From Grindr.” 

Harry stares at him, blinking, and then flops down against the table, hiding against his arm, laughing. When he reemerges his face is all red. “Seriously? _Grindr_?”

“I have to get some somehow, innit,” Louis says. He takes another sip of his tea and pulls himself up on the worktop, crossing his feet at the ankles. “If you’re going to mock me for that, I will have to remind you of your Facebook offensive from last summer.”

“That was not- I really liked her!” Harry exclaims, holding his hands up in defense. “It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t have her number. Or her friend’s number.” His mouth turns into a cheeky smile and Louis grabs a lemon from the fruit bowl and throws it at him. Harry catches it, but nearly falls off his chair, spilling half his cup of tea all over the floor, and gets up to grab a kitchen towel and crouching on the floor to clean up.

“Fine,” he admits. “We’re now even when it comes to questionable flirting devices. Happy?”

“Very,” Louis says smugly, but feeling guilty and uncomfortable about lying. 

“Oh, by the way,” Harry starts. “There’s a work thing Wednesday night, kind of an end of year party. Niall said it’s okay to bring a friend. Free drinks and food?” 

Louis thinks about that for a moment and realizes that he hasn’t been properly out in too long and the promise of getting (semi-)hammered at no cost is too good to pass up. “Do I have to dress like a hipster and wear a dirty headband and not shower unless I have sex with somebody?”

“Nope,” Harry says, beaming. “So you’re in?”

Louis nods, grinning back. “Yeah, man. Free food and drinks!”

*

Zayn calls that night, sounding frazzled. “She has a boyfriend, I think,” he says, voice small.

Louis frowns. “What? I thought you were one a date?” 

Zayn is quiet for a while and then finally says, “Well, it wasn’t an official date. Just, you know, a bit of dinner and then drinks. But she said she had to leave early for something and didn’t explain.”

Louis makes a displeased sound, listening to Zayn sigh again. “That’s uncool,” he comments. “Need some cheering up tonight? Should we gather the gang?” 

“No,” Zayn says and Louis imagines him pouting and looking unhappy, before Zayn adds, “Yes. And bring that pink bottle of Tequila I forgot at your flat a while back. The good stuff.”

Louis sends out a mass text while Harry collects food items and drinks, listing insane ways to cheer Zayn up which Louis takes mental notes of. It turns into less of a party and more of a film night, with Harry and Louis sharing the ginormous secondhand armchair that Harry gave Zayn for a birthday, and Zayn, Liam and Niall, who Harry invited, on the sofa, and El and Sophia on cushions on the floor until Liam offers them their spot. They do shots to Paranormal Activity and Harry attempts to drunk cook a midnight snack with everyone crowded around him and shouting suggestions and tips. Louis is so hungover the next morning, bleary eyed and fucking aching, that he all but forgets about the party Harry invited him to, curled up in bed for half of Sunday, texting with Harry in the room across from his own.

*

Nick looks tired when Louis arrives at his flat Tuesday evening; he’s pale and in trackie bottoms and an threadworn T-shirt of a band that Louis has never heard of, and collapses against Louis on the sofa when they sit down, with a beer each.

Puppy joins them, wagging her tail, and curls up against Louis’ side, warm and tiny. “She’s so cute,” he comments and Nick nods and pulls him closer, his arm wrapped tightly around Louis’ waist. 

“You’re cute,” he says, sounding half-asleep, and Louis snorts and pokes his thigh, but doesn’t protest. 

The telly flickers quietly, some documentary on the lives of penguins, and Nick keeps laughing at their mishaps. It takes Louis a while to settle in and stop feeling antsy, to accept the silence as is, and when he finally does, the warmth of Nick’s body against his own almost lulls him to sleep. 

“This is nice,” Nick says after a while. He sits up and takes another sip of beer, putting his can back on the table, and then navigates his legs until they can lie down on the couch, his chest pressed against Louis’ back, his hand resting loosely on his tummy. “Film cuddling and all.” 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. He wiggles back and settles in, closing his eyes. He could fall asleep like this, comfortable and safe. “It’s been a while.” It slips out before he can stop himself and he bites his lip to keep himself from saying anything else. He doesn’t want to be the guy who talks about past relationships while curled up with- well, with whatever Nick is. 

Nick hums and starts tracing circles on Louis’ stomach. “Yeah, Harry sort of told me you broke up with your boyfriend a while ago.”

“He told you that?” Louis asks baffled, irritated for a second that Harry would give information about Louis away so freely. 

“Not explicitly,” Nick explains; he sounds amused and Louis wants to kick him. “He was asking me if I had any friends he could set you up with.”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “And do you have any friends he could set me up with?”

“Why?” Nick’s breath is warm against Louis’ neck, his fingers tickling him a little. “Are you interested in being set up with somebody?”

“I might be,” Louis replies. “You never know.” He fits his hand over Nick’s and stops his teasing fingers. “Don’t do that, I might piss myself if you tickle me.”

“Sexy,” Nick comments dryly, but stops. “So, should I email Harry a list of possible suitors? Attach pictures and CVs?”

Louis fakes consideration, listening to Nick hold his breath. “No,” he eventually says. “I’m good for now.” He looks at the clock on the DVD-player, pinching Nick’s hand before he can reply. “Hey, is it bedtime?”

Nick groans and Louis feels him nod against his back. “Yeah. Six hours will have to do.” 

They get ready for bed together, standing by the sink with their hips pressed together and Nick’s arm around his waist while their brush their teeth. It’s familiar and relaxed, and they crawl in bed together, exchanging soft kisses. Nick seems to not be able to stop touching, his hand in Louis’ hair or on his neck constantly, kissing over his neck and collarbone. 

“I wanna fuck you,” he breathes out, voice raw, and Louis moans, digs his heels into the mattress and slowly grinds up against him. 

“You’ve got to be up so early,” he says. Nick pulls a face and kisses him again, sliding his hand down Louis’ chest and into his pants; Louis mirrors the motion, wraps his hand around Nick’s cock as it starts fattening up. 

They come together, moaning into each other’s mouths, and afterwards clean each other up with tissues, still kissing and touching. Louis falls asleep with his head on Nick’s chest and Nick’s fingers playing with his hair, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heart.

*

“You’re not-” Harry stops in the middle of the sentence, eyes narrowed at Louis as he spins slowly. “You should at least wear a jacket,” he continues after a moment and Louis pulls a face.

“I don’t want to be all dressed up,” he says, shaking his head and looking at himself in the big mirror at the end of the hall. He looks _fine_ , it’s clean T-shirt from a cool band and his jeans are not washed out but proper black. 

“It’s a reception, Tommo,” Harry insists. He’s in a white button-up shirt and a suit jacket, hair styled back. Louis sticks his tongue out at him. 

“You’re wearing jeans, too,” he says but takes the blazer Harry is holding out for him and slips it on. It must be one of Harry’s old ones because it fits like a glove. 

“There.” Harry points back at the mirror, looking pleased, and Louis disgruntledly agrees that this is a much more appropriate look for a fancy party at a radio station. 

They take the tube to the venue, with Harry trying to explain to Louis exactly who they are going to meet and what they’re tasked with at the office and why Louis is going to like them in particular. He seems a little nervous, and Louis tilts his head and nudges their knees together. 

“What’s up with you?” he asks. “Cute girl?”

Harry shrugs and smiles, dimples and all, and then nods. “Kind of. A bit. Woman, really.”

“She gonna be at the thing?” Harry is _glowing_ like he always does when he falls for somebody, which is an almost monthly occurrence.

“Yeah, she’s one of Nick’s friends. You’ll meet her.” He stops and then grins, ducks his head. “She’s a model, you know, properly employed model and all.” 

“Oh dear,” Louis sighs. “You’re not in love, mate, you’re thinking with your prick then.”

“No, she’s like- she’s really great. We talk a lot!” His persisting smug smile tells Louis otherwise, but he doesn’t press the issue, instead high-fives Harry, laughing. 

They arrive just in time, and Louis hooks his arm into Harry’s and lets Harry lead him inside, signing them up with his employee pass at the the entrance. It feels very posh and Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen so many truly well-dressed people convened in one place and is glad that Harry talked him into a blazer at least. 

They grab a drink from the open bar and spot Niall and Pixie by their mutual bleached heads to join them at a nice corner table. Louis sits next to Niall who fist-bumps him out of the blue, half-hugging him, and Louis, perplexed, hugs him right back. 

“I say if they’re going to make us listen to speeches and all that crap,” Niall announces, nodding to the drinks already on their table. “That we get drunk on BBC cost today. Totally hammered.” 

“Cheers to that!” Louis raises his glass and they all toast together, even though Harry seems distracted, his eyes darting about the big room. He gets up only a moment later, bumping into the table, and excuses himself, strutting off toward the entrance where a group of people have just emerged. 

“He’s in _love_ ,” Louis says and pulls a face. 

Pixie laughs in delight and says, “With Alexa? Precious.”

“Is that her name?” Louis cranes his neck and watches Harry kiss a tall, dark-haired woman on the cheek and offer his arm to her. It’s always amusing to watch him put on a show, the way he holds his body so much differently when he’s around somebody he wants to shag even though he is indefinitely charming as is anyway. 

“Oooh, there is Nick,” Pixie says suddenly, pointing. “He’s been neglecting me _all_ night.”

This piques Louis’ interest and he follows her finger toward where Nick is standing by the bar in a slick black suit with his redhead friend on his arm. He’s laughing at a comment somebody made in his group of people and then turns when Pixie calls for him. 

“Grimmy!” She waves and Nick saunters over after a little bow to a gentleman in a dark suit, grinning. His face falters for a minute second when his eyes meet Louis’, but he regains control of it nearly immediately.

“You’re so _loud_ ,” he says as he approaches and kisses Pixie’s cheek, accepting Niall’s hug. Louis sits still and waits, heart suddenly right at the top of his throat. He’s not expecting a warm hello but Nick only nods shortly at him, and smiles amicably like he hasn’t had his hand down Louis’ pants just last night, and Louis feels his face fall a bit. “Oh, Louis, right? You’re Harry’s plus one?” His blasé tone is over the top, but nobody except Louis seems to notice. 

He can’t help but cock a brow at Nick, but Nick shows no immediate reaction as he sits between Aimee and Pixie. “I am, yes,” he finally says. “Thanks for the invitation.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Nick drawls, still smiling. “There’s plenty of food and drink for the entirety of London, I think.”

“Cheers then!” Louis reaches for his gin and tonic, takes a large sip and then another. It makes him feel vengeful so he says,” “Thank you, BBC, for making sure that poor students are wined and dined in London.” 

This does get elicit a reaction from Nick - his mouth tightens a little but he doesn’t say anything, simply raises his drink in a toast. 

“Yeah,” Niall suddenly pipes in. “Also for making sure us poor soundtechs get a drink now and then!” He empties half his pint in one single sip, grinning and wiping his mouth. “What about that raise, eh, Grimmy?” 

They start going back and forth, with Pixie pointing out that Niall is hard-working and also Irish, and Nick insisting that he _wants_ Niall to get a raise but obviously can’t make decisions like that. It’s all in good fun and ends in Niall running off for more drinks for the table.

Nick pays no attention to him at all in favor of chatting with Aimee over some celebrity issue or another, taking suggestions as to who he should invite as a guest to his show next, and Louis feels left out and it stings. He finishes his second gin and tonic, the alcohol sharp, and tries not to watch Nick too obviously. 

Harry’s return just as the opening speeches are starting, makes it a bit easier. He introduces Louis to the girl he met by the door - Alexa - who also seems to be nearly a foot taller than Louis, beautiful and classy. She seems kind, though, and indulges Harry in his attempts at humor, smiling, eyes amused. 

They sit through half an hour of speeches and acknowledgements during which Louis finishes a third drink, now a beer, properly buzzed when the buffet finally opens. They wait out the first rush, making fun of people’s dresses and overloaded plates, and then grab some food for themselves. 

Louis is decidedly not looking at Nick anymore, keeps focused on his food and Harry and Alexa, and finishes his tempura prawns and spring rolls, then makes his way through the now more crowded venue for another drink. 

Waiting by the bar, he’s suddenly joined by Nick, who presses against him, looking down at him with his eyebrows raised. “D’you wanna join me for a smoke outside?” he asks and accepts his drink from the barman, waits until Louis grabs his beer. 

“No,” Louis says and shakes his head. He’s feeling stubborn and unforgiving, because Nick hasn’t so much as looked at him all evening, as if ‘keeping it between them’ also meant ignoring each other in public. “It’s cold outside and my coat is in the cloakroom.” 

“Fine.” Nick seems annoyed and Louis narrows his eyes at him. 

“What?” he finally asks and Nick steers them off to the side a little, lips set in a tight line. He looks around as them as if to see if anybody who knows them might be watching and that really hurts. Louis feels his face darken, glaring up at Nick. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here last night?” Nick demands. He’s talking very quietly, whispering, as though anybody here is paying attention to anything but their food and their drink and the live band. 

“I forgot,” Louis says honestly. “I forgot and I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” 

Nick shakes his head at that and rakes his fingers through his quiff, undoing its perfect unruliness. “How can you-” He stops again, looking exasperated. “Look, I thought- I thought it was clear that this is something that’s between you and me. We agreed on that.”

Louis’ stomach twists and he blinks, trying to not let his face show just badly that stings. “We did,” he says. “I’m here with Harry, for free food and drinks. Not everything is about you, Nick.” He remembers last night and falling asleep against Nick, and remembers kissing him. “Really, don’t blow this out of proportion. I promise not to drunkenly grope you.” 

Nick relaxes a little, but still seems irritated, so Louis rolls his eyes at him. “C’mon, I’m going back first, I’ll be good, I _promise_.” He can do this, he tells himself, because after all it’s only been four times that he’s slept over and he shouldn’t have read too much into it anyway. 

“Yeah, alright.” Nick shifts a bit, turning to look at the buffet table. “I’m getting some more food. Should I get you some?” 

Louis shakes his head and raises his beer. “I’m good with this,” he says and turns, pushes through the crowd back to their table. He doesn’t feel like drinking anymore and he sits down and nudges Niall, clinks their drinks together. 

“Hey,” he says, tilting his head a little. “Do you by chance have some-” He raises his hand to his mouth in a gesture that Niall seems to recognize because he nods, nudging Louis’ thigh with his own. 

“Yeah,” he says, turning to Harry. “You in?” 

Harry shakes his head and Louis shrugs. “We’ll be back in ten or so,” he says and follows Niall outside. 

They get a little high from a single joint shared between the two of them; Niall is funny and Louis spends the rest of the evening darting about the venue with him, daring each other to eat crazy foods from the buffet or order even crazier drinks from the barman. 

Nick is rarely at their table after that and if he is, he’s in deep conversation with Pixie or Aimee or even Harry. Louis pretends he doesn’t care.

*

Louis sleeps through his lecture on Thursday and wakes to a text from Nick asking him if he has lunch plans on Friday, which he ignores in favor of tea and toast. He flicks on the radio and to his surprise Harry’s voice fills the kitchen with the occasional interruption of Nick correcting him.

“And that was my intern, everybody, and he will not be on the radio again until he learns to stick to time limits,” Nick says after Harry, rambling awfully, announces a song, and Louis sits down at the kitchen table, suddenly feeling heavy. He realizes he’s jealous of both of them, because Nick gets more of Harry these days than Louis does, and because Harry is in the studio with him, and he hates the fact that he is and that he can’t even pretend he’s not because the emotion is so sudden and powerful. It’s crazy and frustrating and Louis is so unhappy with it all - he doesn’t want to be jealous because he doesn’t have anything with Nick that he should be jealous about. 

He watches a few episodes of random soaps until his hangover makes him feel less like the world is ending, and then finds his phone in his bedroom again and texts Nick back. 

_Lunch? You really wanna be seen with me in daylight?_

He lies back down on his bed, holding his phone over his face waiting, still almost dropping it when Nick’s reply comes. 

_I may be sparkly but I wont go up in flames._

_Fine, 12.30 and I want something fancy this time_ , Louis texts back, still feeling a little bitter about last night. 

There’s no reply from Nick for a while and Louis is about to drop his phone and occupy himself otherwise, when it rings. He picks up, grunting a hello and to Nick’s friendly ‘hi’. 

“Do you have anything in mind?” Nick asks. It sounds like he’s driving, traffic noises mixing with his voice. 

Louis shakes his head, feeling silly. He’s never been to a really posh restaurant before, doesn’t even know where to start with that. “Surprise me,” he says lamely. “Should I come by your place tomorrow and we go from there?”

“Alright,” Nick replies. He swears into the phone and then apologizes for it. “Sorry, bloody wanker, couldn’t drive. But, yes. Sounds good, there’s a lot of nice places. I’ll find something.” 

“Okay, see you then,” Louis says. He waits for Nick’s ‘bye’ and echoes it again, then hangs up, pulling his legs onto the bed, sighing. He’s fucked. Massively fucked.

*

Zayn has news when Louis comes in for his shift in the afternoon; he’s got that look on his face that tells Louis something is up and he drops his bag in the corner and grabs a Redbull from the fridge.

“What’s up?” he asks and Zayn shrugs, but grins. “Tell me,” Louis insists again, knowing that Zayn needs to be coaxed a little. “You look like something happened. Did you go on another date?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, grinning more. “And she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She has a _band_. How cool is that?”

Louis makes a surprised sound. “A band?”

Zayn nods. He rearranges some files on the counter, playing with the sheets while saying, “Yeah, it’s like a girlband, but they’re _cool_ , a cool girlband. They kick arse. That’s why she had to skip out on me last week, they had a meeting with a guy from, uh, Sony, I think.” 

“Wow,” Louis says and Zayn nods enthusiastically. “How come you didn’t know about this? Are they still like, keeping it a secret?”

“Yeah, I think they’re still trying to work out the details. But isn’t that cool? She’s in a band.” He looks like he’s in love, really, truly and properly in love, kind of like the time Louis gave him a first edition Wolverine issue that a friend of a friend dug out of his dad’s storage somewhere, and Louis has never seen him like this. 

He prods Zayn’s shin with the toe of his shoe, trying to get him to snap out of it. “So, did yo snog?”

“Yup,” Zayn says proudly. Louis fistbumps him, exaggeratedly waggling his brows. 

“And?” he asks, but Zayn just ducks his head. 

“Nothing, I’m being good. I want this to last.” He sounds so earnest and completely smitten, and for a split second Louis is angry that Zayn has that and he doesn’t, feels a completely unfair kind of envy that passes as soon as he realizes what it is, replaced by a fond happiness for Zayn. 

“Seeing her again tonight,” Zayn continues, shuffling his feet a little. 

Louis grins and pulls him into a half-hug. “Happy for you, bro,” he says, squeezing him.

*

Nick is already wearing his oversized grey coat when he opens the door for Louis; he’s in a knit hat, but his coat is open to reveal a flimsy T-shirt and an unbuttoned shirt. He doesn’t look dressed for a posh restaurant and Louis feels a bit silly about wearing actually nice trousers instead of just jeans and the blazer from last night. He buries more deeply into his coat - this time a loan from Zayn, still too loose around the shoulders - and rolls back and forth on his heels.

“Hi,” he says and stuffs his hands inside his pockets when Nick reaches out for him. He feels small, and he hates it. 

“Hi,” Nick says back. He gently takes hold of the collar of Louis’ coat and pulls him inside the hall, kisses him, barely out of sight from the street. Louis would rather for Nick to kiss him out on the pavement, but he doesn’t say as much. 

“You look sleepy,” Nick says. He takes Louis’ face into his hands and rubs Louis’ cheeks with his thumbs, smiling. His fingers are soft - Louis knows that now and isn’t surprised, but he remembers having expected them to be more calloused, a little rougher. This is better, though. 

“Didn’t get much sleep,” he says. “Thursday is the new Friday.” He tilts his chin up in a challenge. “But you’re a bit old for that, nine P.M. bedtime and all.”

“Oh shut it, you prick,” Nick huffs out. He walks Louis backwards until they’re out in the open again and lets go to lock his door, then leads the way up onto the pavement again. Nick’s car is parked around the corner, a large black Landrover, and they walk to it side by side and not touching, and Louis gets into the passenger seat without another word when Nick remotely unlocks the car. 

“So, where are we going?” Louis finally asks when Nick pulls out of the parking spot and steers the car out into traffic, going south. 

“You’ll see,” he says. “But it’s a bit of a drive.”

“Alright.” Louis settles into his seat and then remembers to fasten his seatbelt. “You’re not going to make me eat sushi?” he asks as an afterthought, and Nick, eyes focused on the street, laughs and shakes his head without looking at Louis. 

“No sushi, promise,” he says. He’s quiet a for a moment and Louis watches his profile, fighting the urge to reach over and touch his knee, rub his thumb over his thigh and tease him a little. Instead he turns on the radio, scrolling through stations. 

“Do Radio One,” Nick says and Louis scoffs at him, but does eventually settle on it. It’s the news again and Louis closes his eyes and lets the sounds wash over him until Nick’s voice shakes him out of it. 

“You really are tired, aren’t you?” 

Louis peeks at him and rolls his shoulders; he can hardly tell Nick that the reason he’s being so quiet is because he’s got too many things he wants to say none of which he should be saying, so he just hums in agreement, feigning sleepiness. 

“It’s okay,” he adds. “I will snap out of it again. I just get sleepy in cars. Me mum used to drive me around as a baby when I wouldn’t sleep.” 

Nick looks away from the street shortly, smiling, eyes soft. “Sometimes your accent comes through so much,” he says. “I’d love to put you on the radio. Northerners unite and all.”

Louis can’t help but smile back at that, shrugging a bit. “Yours is prominent _all_ the time. And I heard how you mocked Harry the other day, you’re a terrible co-host.” 

“Oh, but he deserved mocking,” Nick interjects, focusing back on traffic shortly. They’re back in central again, turning into Baker Street, heading further south. “He’s an awful rambler. Completely unsuited for the radio. You on the other hand-” He grins at Louis again and Louis scrunches his nose up. 

“I’d rather stick to drama,” he says. 

“Ah, yeah.” Nick looks pensive. He turns another corner, speeds past Marble Arch and the park, scanning the lanes for a parking space. “Are you aiming to be an actor?” he asks finally after finding one and maneuvering the car into it with surprising ease and a swift turn of the wheel. 

“Producer more likely,” Louis replies. He unfastens his seatbelt and climbs out of the car, shivering at how cold the air suddenly feels after being inside the heated car in his coat. “I used to want to become an actor.” They start walking down along the pavement and Louis lets Nick guide the way. “I’m not very talented, though. Bit of a problem.” 

They reach a hotel that Louis has very vaguely heard of at some point and Nick leads him inside, nodding at the concierge, and through the luxurious lobby to the lift. 

“This is a restaurant?” Louis asks baffled, can’t quite contain his puzzlement. 

“There’s one at the hotel, yeah,” Nick says. “You did say you wanted something fancy, didn’t you?” 

Louis did; he bites his lip and keeps quiet until they arrive and yet another concierge takes their coats and then their reservation, talking quietly with Nick who smiles and nods, and then allows the host to lead them to their table which has a beautiful view out over the park. 

He pushes Louis’ chair back for him and Louis sits, looking around and feeling incredibly out of place in a sea of pressed suits and expensive watches and women with heavy jewelry, all of whom seem to enjoying a _casual_ lunch. 

They are served bread and their menus, with the waiter barely there yet just the right amount of attentive. 

“There’s a lunch menu,” Nick points out, “that’s quite good. It includes wine and three courses, and it’s usually very nice. But you can have á la carte, too, if you’d rather prefer that, love.”

Louis’ eyes dart over the menu. He vaguely recognizes some of the french terms that are intermingled with the food descriptions, but it’s been too long since he’s last used the language for him to make much sense of them. There’s no prices listed and Louis feels a sudden guilty feeling settle in his stomach.

“No,” he finally says, acting on the instinct that the lunch menu will be the cheapest. “I’m good with the lunch menu, it looks great.” 

“You choose one of each course,” Nick continues explaining. “And a wine.” 

Louis nods along, reading, and when Nick puts his menu down mirrors him. Nick looks comfortable and at home; in his ripped jeans and plaid shirt and messy hair he blends in more with the posh, slick interior of the restaurant than Louis does with his grey slacks and blazer. He smooths his hands over the delicately ironed tablecloth, fingers knocking into his water glass, and apologizes before he can stop himself. 

He’s itching and feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin because this is _too much_ and he doesn’t know at all how to deal with it. 

If Nick notices anything at all, he doesn’t pay attention to it. He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs, his knee poking out from the rip. “I had to pull a few favors to get a table here on such short notice,” he says. He looks a bit proud, like he expects praise or Louis to be impressed, and Louis _is_ impressed, but he feels so inadequate all of a sudden that he almost contemplates bolting.

Their waiter returns and takes their orders; Louis feels like he stutters his way through the order and then chooses whatever wine Nick aims for, completely clueless. Nick on the other hand seems entirely unfazed. He breezes through his order and charmingly mispronounces everything and doesn’t seem to care at all when the waiter’s mouth twitches minutely.

Louis turns his gaze to look out the window, overlooking the park, and feels small, until Nick suddenly says his name. 

“Hey,” he says. “Lou.”

Louis smiles at that because hardly anyone ever calls him that, maybe Harry during late night talks, half groggy. Maybe Liam sometimes when Louis is being unreasonable. Maybe his mum when she hugs him after he hasn’t been home in a long time. 

“There’s only like, three people in this world who call me Lou,” he says; he aims for sarcastic. He wants it to tell Nick that he’s not entirely sure that Nick has earned his right to, but his voice turns out soft.

Nick’s lips turn into a smile. “Let me guess,” he says. “Your mum, uhm, Harry? And somebody else? Ex-boyfriend?”

Louis nods along and then shakes his head bemused. “You got one of them wrong.” 

Nick’s mouth twitches, but their wine arrives before he can say anything. The waiter pours Nick the tiniest sip, which he takes, before nodding. Louis is confused for a moment, but keeps his hands in his lap when their glasses are filled and then reaches for it and takes a large gulp, trying to calm the simmering, nervous feeling in his stomach. He likes it so he takes another and then another, feeling a bit calmer when he sets his glass down again. 

Nick is watching him, but doesn’t expand on their previous conversation, and Louis sinks down into his chair, letting his gaze stray around again. 

“Have you been here before?” he finally asks, looking back at Nick who nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “A couple of times. It’s a bit far out, so I only tend to come here when I meet people who stay in the city. And you need to make reservations.”

“Right.” Louis went to a restaurant that properly requires reservations once before, he thinks, after graduating and being accepted into university. His step-dad took them and the twins dressed up in tiny flowery dresses and Louis wore a nice suit, but it doesn’t compare to this at all. “I’ve never been anywhere like this,” he says. “For me it’s Super Noodles and whatever Harry puts on the table.” He grins and shrugs.

“I practically _lived_ off Super Noodles when I was still in uni,” Nick says. He looks nostalgic and Louis tilts his head. 

“You went to uni?” he asks. For some reason he can both vividly picture Nick living the university life and at the same time feels like Nick just fell into the radio business right after school. 

“Yeah, business and media studies.” He shrugs. “My dad’s a bit oldschool, you know, he wanted me to learn something proper, so I did.” 

“Business,” Louis echoes. “Imagine that. So, if the radio thing hadn’t work out, you’d have become a banker? Or something?”

“Or something, more likely. But I always knew it’d work out.” Nick blinks slowly, starts playing with his hair again, threading his fingers through it. “I had a lot of good friends who had a lot of faith in me and that helped me a lot.” He reaches for his glass and takes a sip. 

“I was in Grease in a production at school,” Louis blurts out and Nick perks up. “I- it was fun? But then I saw the video somebody had filmed of it - I was already in uni at that point - and I realized that I just didn’t have it.” He empties his wine glass, playing with it, nervous again. The memory alone is enough to make him feel vulnerable. 

“Don’t put yourself down so much.” Nick’s voice is unexpectedly tender. “You do that a lot.” 

Louis frowns at him. “Not really,” he bites back; he doesn’t want Nick to pity him and he doesn’t want Nick’s good advice and he doesn’t want Nick to tell him that he can do it if he just tries hard enough and works hard enough. 

The first course saves him from elaborating and prevents Nick from prodding him more about the subject; the food is better than good, it’s stellar, and though Louis is apprehensive and careful with it at first, he soon finds himself digging in and loving it. When the main course arrives, Louis has finished his second glass of wine and is feeling a little tipsy. They barely talk over their plates, except to comment on the dishes and or point out things that are especially lovely. 

Their dessert is a complicated structure of ballooned chocolate and creamy gushes and Louis licks his spoon clean when he’s done, feeling his cheeks burn from the red wine and the sugar. 

He’s nearly forgotten his unease while eating, but when the waiter returns with a smile and the bill which he smoothly slips under Nick’s hand during a short break in their small talk, Louis slithers right back into it. 

Nick fishes his credit card from his wallet, writes something on the bill out of Louis’ sight, and smiles at Louis pleasantly.

“That was delicious,” he says as he waiter walks off. “I could sleep all day now and then be cross with myself tomorrow for overindulging.” 

Louis just nods and smiles, folding his hands in his lap again. The lunch rush is dying down and the less people there are, the more Louis feels like he’s standing out like a sore thumb. When the waiter returns with Nick’s card and offers the bill to sign, Louis can’t help but take a peek, stomach dropping. 

They say their goodbyes at the reception and collect their coats, and Louis clings to his, then puts it on in the lift, looking up at Nick from under his lashes. They make it back to the car and Nick fastens his seatbelt and flicks on the radio - quiet afternoon pop music - and Louis finds his voice again. 

“Nick,” he starts. “That was- I’m so sorry, that was way too expensive. I’ll pay you back.”

“You’re not supposed to look at the bill when somebody is treating you,” Nick scolds, frowning. He navigates onto the street, not quite looking at Louis, but darts his eyes over for a second, brows slightly furrowed.

“That was like, half my rent,” Louis says. His voice feels small and he feels guilty for ever even having asked Nick to take him out. 

“Then I don’t see you paying me back anytime soon,” Nick comments offhand; he turns and smiles at Louis and Louis knows it’s a joke and is meant to let him know that it’s okay, but he can’t take it as that. 

“It was really way too expensive-” He stops when Nick reaches over and touches his thigh, then moves his hand to the gearstick. 

“Did you like it? The food?” he asks. 

“I did, yeah,” Louis agrees. “It was amazing.”

“Then say thank you,” Nick suggests. “And come home with me.”

Louis stares at him for a few moments, hands in the pockets of his coat, playing with chewing gum wrappers that Zayn must’ve stuffed in there a while back. “Thank you,” he finally says.

*

Louis wakes in the middle of the night - or the crack of dawn, November makes it so hard to tell - having to piss and thirsty at the same time. Nick is sprawled all over him, their legs entwined, and it takes Louis a lot of gentle pushes and sneaky shifting to slip out from under him. He relieves himself in the bathroom and then pads into the kitchen to find some orange juice in the fridge.

Puppy shuffles along, whining quietly when Louis passes her foodbowl, and Louis gives her a look, smiling. 

“What?” he whispers. “You had dinner already, little doggie.” She whines again and he sighs and starts looking for treats through Nick’s cabinets, but remains unsuccessful. He startles at Puppy’s sudden yipping when the light goes on in the living room and Nick steps closer, in boxershorts and with his hair standing up in three-hundred different directions. 

He crowds into Louis’ space, pulls him in, with his chest presses to Louis’ naked back, and kisses his shoulder, mouth dry, but body sleep-warm. 

"Are you spoiling my dog?" he asks and Louis leans into him, nodding. 

"She was hungry." He shifts a bit, sighing, tired. "Do you have treats? I already promised her one. Can't back out now."

Nick quietly chuckles against his shoulder, then reaches past him into a jar that Louis hadn't previously checked and tosses Puppy a few biscuits, which she eats, wagging her tail happily. 

"Come back to bed now?" Nick asks and walks them backwards, pulling Louis with him. They bump into the kitchen counter and then the doorframe, and Louis rubs Nick's arms, winding out of his embrace to take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. 

They sleep curled around each other, with Louis’ back pressed tightly into Nick’s chest and Nick’s breath warm against his cheek. It takes him much longer to drift off, listening to the sounds of Nick sleeping and the quiet of the night. He’s aching inside, stupidly so, and he wants to turn around in Nick’s arms and shake him awake and kiss him silly and feel like Nick wants him just as much in return.

He doesn’t leave the next morning like he usually would; Harry’s text from the night before tells him that he’s with somebody for the weekend and won’t be home.

Louis spends the day at Nick’s flat in his pants and one of Nick’s flannel shirts that are already big on Nick, but reach midthigh on Louis. He eats all of Nick’s biscuits while Nick makes pasta sauce and then drinks all his beers and then lets Nick fuck his throat in the shower until he’s raw and almost crying, his face burning, lips swollen. He swallows when Nick comes, collapsing against his thigh, and wanks off with Nick’s hand in his wet hair and touching his face, thumb rubbing over Louis’ bruised lips. 

Afterwards, they watch a film without drying off properly, kissing wetly, rutting on the couch without getting each other off. Nick is more touchy than the night before, spooning him possessively, fingers digging into Louis’ belly and cock pressing between Louis’ cheeks. He sucks countless lovebites into Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ voice is so hoarse from moaning and asking for more that he barely recognizes it. 

When Nick finally fingers him open, he’s sobbing, crouched on the sofa with his arse in the air. It’s quick and fast and rough, and leaves both of them them shaking. They barely make it to bed and fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, too exhausted to talk.

*

Louis’ radio alarm clock wakes him at seven thirty Monday morning. The voices seep into his dream for a few minutes, create the most disturbing images until he finally jerks awake fully, heart hammering with the remnants of a second-long nightmare.

“Well,” Nick’s voice says, “this concludes the early morning news, thanks Tina!”

Louis groans and rubs his eyes, then fumbles for his phone under his pillow. He texts Harry: _thank you very much you bloody wanker_

Harry’s reply is immediate. _just looking out for you man. you’ve got UNI_.

Louis flicks his phone off and drops it on the floor, wincing, swearing and reaching for it again to make sure it’s not broken. In the meantime, Nick keeps droning on, laughing and announcing a song that lulls Louis back into a half-sleep for a while. 

He comes to again a little later, feeling more tired than before and with his foot hanging off the bed, and Fincham - Louis thinks it’s him, at least - laughing loudly into the microphone. 

“You haven’t been around _at all_ this weekend,” he’s saying. “Grimmy, one might think you’ve got a little thing going on!”

Nick’s snort is immediate and over the top. Louis buries his face in his pillow and listens, holding his breath. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to hear what follows, that knows what Nick is inevitably going to say, and then there’s a part of him that wants to hear it, that would rather know than be a fool.

“You’d be the first to know,” Nick continues. “If I was - excuse me people out there - shagging somebody.”

“So, you’re denying it?” That’s Tina, barely holding back her giggles. 

“Absolutely,” Nick says vehemently. Louis can imagine his face and his smirk and he wishes he could punch him from where he’s lying, feels his stomach twist. “I was just catching some shuteye, like the old, old man that I evidently am. Slept through the whole weekend, like a stone. I am blissfully single and it shall remain that way.” There’s a pause in which Nick sighs deeply. “Sometimes I do wish I had somebody, though, you know. I do get lonely.”

Louis swallows; now it feels like Nick reached through the radio and punched him instead., and he feels stupid for how much it impacts him. He’s been aware of the nature of their arrangement from the very first moment on, and it shouldn’t come as such a surprise and it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. 

He picks himself up and hits the off-button on his alarm clock, sitting back against his heels. There’s a tight knot in his stomach and he doesn’t know what to do about it; he wishes Harry were here and not at work - and that he could actually talk to Harry about this instead of having to lie - or withhold the truth - constantly. 

It makes him angry at Nick for a few seconds, so angry he has to inhale deeply and hold it there so he doesn’t call him and yell at him and accuse him of things that he can’t know and that are not actually his fault. 

He grabs his phone again and texts _meh_ to Harry, who responds with another _UNI!!!_. Louis pouts at it but then, grumbling, decides that lecture may not be the worst kind of distraction at the moment. 

He sticks to that credo for most of the week, going to his lectures and leaving the radio turned off, trying to pay less attention to his phone and whether or not Nick calls, which he doesn’t. He keeps it up until Wednesday when out of the blue Nick texts him a message full of nothing but silly emoticons when he’s in the middle of class. He pockets his phone when his professor gives him a grumpy look, going tomato red, his chest tight. 

_you’re weird_ , he texts back after his lecture has ended and he’s walking down the campus to the shop to relieve Zayn of his shift, his mind racing with a thousand things he wants to ask Nick and with yet another thousand that he wants Nick to ask him. 

Nick texts back a winking smiley sticking its tongue out and then immediately after _would you believe me if I told you that my dog messaged you?_

Louis laughs, surprised, and shakes his head. _she does have more creativity and imagination than you,_ he replies. 

He reaches the shop and is surprised to find Zayn getting ready to leave. “You’re going to leave me?” he asks without a hello and frowns at Zayn who shrugs, looking sheepish. 

“Got a date with the missus,” he says, grinning. “Ice-cream. And then-” He shrugs again and Louis feels his frown deepen.

“It’s the middle of _November_. Also, missus? You an item now?”

“Sort of,” Zayn says. “She slept over on Friday. I wanted to tell you but Harry said you weren’t home.”

“Ah.” Louis waves his hand, awkwardly trying to come up with explanation that doesn’t entail outright lying to Zayn. “Yeah, I like. Went over to a guy’s place.”

“What, Grindr again?” Zayn’s face is half-blank, half mix between amusement and exasperation. “That’s not- Louis you shouldn’t be doing that. What if you meet somebody bad? I can hook you up with friends if you wanna get laid, bro. Don’t do that”.”

“Ugh,” Louis says. “Please, just, don’t? I’m fine. We were safe, and like, I won’t do it again anyway, okay.”

“Good.” Zayn nods sternly. He hugs Louis on his way out, squeezing his shoulder and then calls from the door, “Oh, me and the girls are going out on Thursday, if you wanna come, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Louis calls back, waving, but his smile withers after Zayn closes the door. There’s nothing that Zayn doesn’t know - from Louis’ first awkward kiss with his cousin Stevie when he was eleven, which he admitted when he was very high, to Louis’ biggest fears and dreams and everything else that makes him vulnerable - but now Louis has a secret and it’s strangling him.

*

“Listen,” Louis says. He raises his glass into a toast, with Harry’s arm over his shoulder, both of them swaying. “Listen!” he repeats when the girls won’t stop chatting. “You’re all fantastic. A fantastic bunch of people. I will buy your album when it comes and I assure you that I never buy albums, but I will buy yours.”

There’s hooting and cheering and Perrie - who’s petite and platinum blonde and fierce like a razor - wiggles out from under Zayn’s arm and collects highfives from around the table. 

“Shots!” Jesy calls. “We need more shots.” The other three join in and their voices intermingle in laughter, with Leigh-Anne shaking her head, hair bouncing, and Jade hiding a giggle behind her curled hand. 

Louis is not lying even though he’s completely pissed at this point: he will buy their CD. They sang a little a cappella while he was downing his beer, trying to get him off track so Zayn would win, and they sounded fantastic. 

Someone from somewhere - Liam probably, or Niall, even though he was just talking to Jesy very earnestly about helping them mix their demo - has produced a tray full of melon vodka shots. Louis downs his pair, retching, and washes the sharpness down with some beer. 

“Are you alright, Tommo?” Harry asks and Louis nods, thumping his chest. He ducks down under the table and crawls out, stumbling to the bathroom to have a piss, and then outside for some fresh air. 

There’s a guy who shares his cigarette and Louis takes it, coughing, and checks his phone for messages, not expecting any, but he’s got a missed call from Nick. He blindly taps around the screen to ring him back. 

“‘ullo?” Nick’s voice, sleepy, comes through the speaker and Louis drops against the alley wall, head spinning. 

“Shit, fuck, sorry, were you asleep?” 

“Not really, a bit,” Nick says in one go. “Are you drunk?”

“Totally fucking drunk, yes, brilliantly drunk,” Louis babbles. “You rang me?” 

“Yeah.” There’s a pause and Louis looks around; the guy with the fags has left and he’s alone out in the cold in nothing but a thin jumper. 

“I wanted to see if you wanted to come over,” Nick continues. He does sound tired and Louis feels bad, but he also misses him. He wants to fall asleep with his head on Nick’s chest and in Nick’s bed and wake up to one of Nick’s perfect cups of tea. 

“I can.” He pushes himself off the wall, trying to orient himself. “I don’t know which tube to take, but I can.”

“You should go home and sleep,” Nick says softly. “Tell Harry to get you home, Lou.”

“I wanna see you.” Louis pouts; he feels reckless and honest. “I’m coming to see you. Don’t worry. Harry won’t know where I’m going.”

“Don’t take the tube when you’re that drunk.” Nick sighs again. He seems a bit more awake now, voice smoothing out. “Get a taxi, and I’ll pay for it, okay?”

“I can pay for my own taxi,” Louis retorts. He can’t really. He’s got a fiver left from drinking, enough to take him home had he pooled with Zayn and Harry. “I’ll get going now, and I’ll be there soon, okay? Do you still want me to come?” He needs some kind of assurance, he needs for Nick to say that he wants him there, that he _wants_ Louis. 

Afterwards he can’t remember what Nick said, if it was _I do_ , or _yes_ or something else entirely, but he stumbles out of his taxi, shivering in the cold, and clings to Nick’s side while Nick pays the driver. He knows he texted Harry from the car, an autocorrected mess about having met an old friend and getting a few drinks with them, and feels guilty about it because he knows Harry will worry. 

Nick gets him undressed, gently kissing him, and ghosting his hands over his cheeks and hair and chest, and he falls asleep with his arms and legs thrown over Nick’s body, not wanting to let go, burying in his warmth. 

He dreams about running down endless, floorless corridors that are reminiscent of the halls of his old school. He knows he’s late for something but can’t remember what it is, just keeps running and running and running, his lungs hurting and his chest tight. 

When he wakes up and wonders downstairs, Nick is in the kitchen making tea, wrapped in his ludicrous dressing gown, looking as tired as Louis feels. Louis stands in the door for a while, watching and not feeling properly sober, but Nick doesn’t notice him. He has a shower and gets ready to leave without turning the light on, head feeling like cotton. 

He’s collecting his phone from the bedroom as Nick walks in with a cup of tea and a bottle of aspirin in his hands and stops, looking Louis up and down. 

“I didn’t hear you get up,” he says and smiles, looking a bit confused. “Are you leaving already? It’s barely half five.”

“I’ve got to go, I should get home,” Louis says. He hesitates, but then tiptoes to press a quick kiss to the corner of Nick’s mouth anyway. “Harry will be wondering where I was as is. I don’t want him to worry, and I don’t like lying to him.” He shrugs a little, looking up at Nick. “I never keep things from him and it’s- really strange, for it to be like this,” Louis elaborates and then stops himself, hoping for something from Nick, an admission maybe, acknowledgement of what they have on the other hand; Nick’s face changes a little, expression faltering for a moment, before he puts on his smile again. 

“Yeah, I understand,” is all he says. Louis steps back and Nick follows him downstairs into the hall and Louis slips on his coat and shoes. 

“See you around,” he says, smiling a bit, and Nick nods. They don’t kiss goodbye, like the reminder of what they agreed on - to keep this between them - was enough for Nick to make it suddenly strange again to touch outside of bed. Louis doesn’t say as much, feeling too tired and still too honest and drunk. He waves goodbye through the window and then heads to the station to take the tube home.

*

There’s an instant Sunday morning where Louis almost breaks and tells Harry everything. He’s lagging behind with sleep from Thursday still, exhausted from working all of Friday after barely any sleep and then another night of heavy drinking with Niall on Saturday.

His brain to mouth filter has been off all morning and he’s been swearing and complaining and Harry has been frowning at him a lot. They settle down for tea and some toast and eggs and Louis nearly tells him everything. I fucked your boss, he wants to say, Nick snores, Nick’s chest is terribly hairy, Nick says he’s single even though we’ve been sleeping with each other for a month. 

He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he nearly draws blood and shoves more eggs into his mouth. 

“What?” Harry says bewildered, blinking, eyes huge. He has always been eerily attentive, so aware of minute movements in people’s face and their body language, and Louis should know better than to underestimate him.

“Nothing,” he says and has a big sip of tea. He’s put sugar in it today and now, as it washes down his throat sweetly, regrets it.

Harry hums and gives him another narrowed look, but then seems to let go of the issue. “I slept with Alexa,” he says and this doesn’t surprise Louis either. 

“Can’t you say ‘shagged’ like a normal person?” he grunts.

“That’s not-” Harry doesn’t finish because Louis flicks a piece of toast at him. He catches it and eats it and, chewing, continues, “I slept with her, but I didn’t really-” His mouth pulls into a grimace and Louis interjects, “Come?” 

“Shut up, no.” Harry shakes his head. “We both came alright, very alright, as a matter of fact. But I thought I was in love with her.”

“You’re not then?” Louis asks rhetorically because he already know the answer to that question. Harry is simultaneously in love with everyone and no-one in particular, and for once Louis wishes he were in his shoes. He wonders if Nick is the same, or if Nick sees people as pastimes more than Harry does, wonders if he himself is nothing more than a pastime to Nick. 

“No,” Harry says. “I don’t think so. I don’t think she’s in love with me either, which- actually, which is great, because that we can continue being friends, you know?” He does seem happy about it and Louis snorts and shakes his head. 

“You’re so, so weird,” he says fondly and picks up another piece of toast to throw at him. It turns into a food fight and they wreck the kitchen, chasing each other with eggs and flour, and then spend the next hour scrubbing until Louis’ hands are all pink and his heart feels a little lighter. 

“You should tune into the show Tuesday morning,” Harry says. “Nick is letting me do another segment. He said he likes my voice. I will play a song for you, yeah? So turn the radio on. I know you’ll be home.” He sounds very proud and excited, face glowing, and Louis can’t find it in him to say no. 

“Alright,” he says. “Of course I will.” He sprawls against the newly clean kitchen floor and Harry scoots closer, dropping his head against his stomach. “Play a good song for me,” Louis says. “Not some band I’ve never heard of, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles, sounding sleepy. They nap throughout most of the rest of the day, and order a pizza when Zayn and Perrie come over later in the evening. Louis is too tired to engage in their conversation and falls asleep on the sofa half-way through the film. 

He goes to uni on Monday and hands in his overdue essays and doesn’t think about Nick at all. His phone stays quiet and there’s no messages and no emoticons. He types out a few messages to Nick, ranging from teasing to inviting, but never sends any of them because he doesn’t want to be one running after something that might not even be there, and he doesn’t want to feel like he’s pushing for something either. 

Tuesday comes around before he realizes and it’s not that early in the morning before his lunch lecture that Harry sends Louis a text that says nothing but _now!!!_. He squints at the screen, trying to figure out what Harry is trying to tell him, and then, remembering, sprints to the radio in the kitchen and turns it on. 

Harry is rambling about something Nick must’ve said earlier because Louis initially cannot follow. He pulls himself up on the counter, smiling at the sound of Harry’s voice.

“Alright, alright, Harold,” Nick interjects suddenly and Louis’ heart pricks funnily. “We agree that you agree with what Tina said about agreeing with me-” Laughter erupts. “-but I need you to play your song now, go on.” 

Harry apologizes profusely, sniggering anyway, and finally announces, “Alright, hello, this song is for Boobear. I hope the dishwasher is empty when I get home.” He fades out and Taylor Swift starts singing about trouble in Louis’ kitchen. 

“Arsehole,” Louis laughs, kicking his feet in delight, then jumps off the counter and starts emptying the dishwasher. The song ends and he’s done, sorting the remaining pieces of cutlery into the drawer. 

“Right, that was a song for Harry’s special somebody-” Nick says. 

“Flatmate!” Harry pips up but is shushed by Nick before Nick goes on. “Very romantic indeed. Knew you were trouble when you walked in, too, Harold.”

Fincham laughs and Louis shuts the drawer, reaches up to turn the radio off, when Finchan says, “You’ve got something romantic planned for this weekend too, haven’t you, Grimmy?”

“Huh?” Nick says. Louis freezes and pulls away, holding his breath. 

“Romantic getaway to a cabin in Switzerland, right?” Fincham sounds all but malicious and Louis wants to turn the radio off and not hear it, but he physically cannot make himself move. “Who’re you going with?” 

“I’m-” Nick starts but he’s cut off by Showbot who in a mechanical voice announces, “Nick Grimshaw has recently been linked to an Italian stylist. So here’s maybe new hope for Nick’s sense of fashion for the new year.”

“Oh come on now,” Nick complains. Louis’ heart is beating up his throat and he feels _ill_ ; he’d never even considered checking tabloids for anything related to Nick, hadn’t even realized that Nick might feature in them, that Nick’s _love life_ might feature in them. 

“I’m going with the girls,” Nick continues. 

“That sounds like a lamearse excuse.” That’s Harry and Louis feels betrayed for no reason at all because Harry can’t possibly know and to Harry this is all a big joke, making fun of Nick on the radio. “Come on, be honest.”

Nick laughs and stutters for a second, then says, “I _am_ , I am not going with anybody. I might meet the love of my life there, who knows.” He snorts. “As unlikely as it is.” There’s a pause and when he continues this time, he sounds pensive. “But you all know that I’m not the relationship kind of boy. Too much work and all. It’s not on my agenda at all right now.” 

“Point is,” Fincham says. “Our Nick won’t be around this Friday. He may or not be shagging somebody in the Swiss mountains.”

Nick laughs. “Thank you for that intro to my holiday, Finchy. Yes, I’m going away on Friday, but I will be back, possibly hungover from chocolate and cheese on Monday!” 

Louis turns the radio off then and goes through the motions of making himself a cup of tea. He doesn’t realize that his hands are shaking until he’s seated at the kitchen table, with his fingers holding his mug. There’s a lump the size of an iceberg and equally as destructive in his chest, spreading through him and freezing him inside and out. 

His phone buzzes once, twice, and he picks it up; it’s two texts from Harry about his segment on the show and Louis wants to call him and ask him to come home and tell him that he needs him and needs to not be alone right now - but he can’t because Nick took that away from him, too.

*

He collects himself a little during the day, has a shower and does his hair and puts on fresh clothes, and then calls Nick. His voice is surprisingly steady when Nick picks up and mumbles a startled _hello!_ into the speaker.

“Hey,” Louis says and clears his throat. “Hey, can I come over tonight?” He hasn’t really thought this through at all. All he knows is that he needs to see Nick again, just once to be sure and he needs to hear him say it. 

“Of course,” Nick says, sounding stunned, and Louis understands because he’s never asked to come over, has never initiated - Nick has, up to this point, been in control of their schedule. 

“Only if it’s convenient for you.” Louis picks a thread from his jeans. “Yeah?”

“Of course, yeah. When’re you coming? D’you want some dinner?” Louis wants to tell him to stop being nice to him and to not talk about dinner because it makes him ache more, but he smiles into the speaker. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ve already eaten.” He checks the clock on over the fridge. “Six? So, in an hour or so?”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees. “I’ll see you?”

“Yup.” Louis hangs up, heart hammering, nearly nauseous. He’s so nervous he starts folding his clean washing, to pass a bit of time, and then leaves too early anyway, borrowing one of Harry’s coats again. The tube journey takes forever, and it’s so crowded that Louis folds himself away in a corner and reads old text messages and contemplates deleting Nick’s. 

There’s a part of him that understands that he’s maybe being overtly dramatic, that he’s being too emotional and that he should give it some time, but he feels driven, because he simply needs to _know_ and he needs to be sure, and when he walks down to Nick’s flat where Nick is already holding the door open, looking slightly tired, Louis knows there’s nothing else he could’ve done. 

“Hi,” he says and Nick echoes it with a small smile.

He kisses Nick before Nick has even closed the door, with both hands on the collar of Nick’s shirt, tiptoeing. 

Nick makes a surprised sound and kisses back but then pulls away, breathless. He cups Louis’ head, gently stroking through his hair, and frowns down at him, lips twitching. 

“Eager,” he laughs and Louis swallows tightly and steps back without letting go of Nick’s shirt. 

“Can’t I be?” he says, aiming for cocky, but he feels his voice hitch, feels his self-control crumble barely a minute into it. 

“You alright?” Nick asks and this time he sounds genuinely worried. “Did anything happen?” 

Louis looks down at Nick’s socked feet and his vans, and shakes his head and takes them off. He wants to tell him that something happened, yes, and ask him how it’s possible that he’s not realizing it at all, but he can’t right now, not standing in the hallway of Nick’s flat when he’s still got his coat on. 

“Can we go inside?” he asks. “I’m cold. And nothing happened.” He shrugs off his coat and haphazardly hangs it up, pads into the living room with Nick following him. “I just wanted to see you.” It’s the truth and it slips out without him noticing what he’s actually saying, but Nick just laughs a bit and walks into the kitchen. 

“How sweet of you,” he says. “Tea?” 

Louis nods and sits on the sofa where he pulls his knees up, heels pressed into the cushions. His initial courage has passed and made way for dread, and a peculiar mix of lethargy and nervousness that has him entangle his fingers in his jumper, holding on tightly while Nick rummages around in the open kitchen. 

He returns to the sofa with two cups of tea and flops down next to Louis, handing him a cup and sliding his now free hand up Louis’ thigh to his knee. 

“You’re all tense,” he starts again and Louis looks away and takes a few big gulps of tea. He hates that Nick can tell that something is going on but is completely clueless as to what it might be, utterly delusional about himself. 

“Long day,” he replies noncommittally. Nick squeezes his knee and then lets go. He sips his own tea and switches the telly on, aimlessly flicking through channels, then settles on yet another documentary. He sighs and sinks back into the sofa and holds his free arm out in an invitation, smiling at Louis. 

“Come here,” he says and wiggles his fingers a little like Louis is a child that needs silly encouragements. 

“Why?” Louis asks. He unfolds his legs, putting his feet on the coffee table. 

“Because,” Nick says, emphasizing the first syllable, “I want to cuddle and you came here.”

Louis bites his lip and doesn’t say anything. He shifts closer until his shoulder is pressed into Nick’s side and Nick can hug him closer. It’s making him feel even more tense, arms crossed over his chest, and heart aching. He wants to ask Nick if the only reason he wants this now is because Louis is here, but he doesn’t ask that either. 

Instead, he turns around a bit and nudges his nose against Nick’s chin, kisses his neck, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. Nick smells so good, not quite freshly showered, but clean, the scent of his skin interweaving with his earthy cologne. Louis bites down gently and then sucks a mark into his skin, his hand spread out on Nick’s chest, trying to gauge where his heartbeat could be. 

Nick is holding his breath, tangling his fingers in Louis’ hair, and Louis feels a desperate rush of need, of wanting to be closer than that, of wanting to feel Nick again. This is something that he knows, that his body will do on its own, and that he doesn’t have to think for, something that Nick can give him and make him feel, and all of a sudden he wants all he can get. 

He hoists himself up into Nick’s lap, holds his face and kisses into his mouth, rocking down. Nick’s hands come up to first touch his face and then slide down to squeeze his arse, nudging him closer to Nick’s crotch. 

“We can fuck if you want to,” Louis grunts. “You can fuck me, please fuck me-” It floods out of him and he shakes with it, gripping Nick’s shoulders and speaking against his lips with his eyes shut, not wanting to see the expression on Nick’s face. 

“Louis, we don’t have to-” Nick starts but Louis kisses him again, digs his teeth into his bottom lip with the gentlest force possible and then places a trail of kisses down Nick’s neck. 

“It’s okay,” he breathes out, mind racing. He’s feeling unlike himself, like he wants to crawl out of his skin, like maybe if he’ll give Nick what he needs Nick will have him anyway, stupidly, foolishly in love, disregarding the fact that all he came here for was confirmation that Nick wants exactly what he’s offering right now. He sits back and grinds against Nick’s crotch, meeting Nick’s confused stare. “It’s what you want, yeah?” He slips his T-shirt off and starts working on Nick’s, with Nick’s hands roaming all over his body, greedy. 

“I wanna ride you here,” Louis continues. Nick groans a barely audibly _fuck yeah_ , reservations apparently forgotten, and Louis slides off his lap and kneels in front of him on the floor, mouths at his cock through his jeans, encouraging Nick to rut up against him. 

“Fuck,” Nick grits out again. He digs his fingers into Louis’ hair, not gentle this time, tugging, and Louis undoes his flies and pulls his cock out, licking over it sloppily. He’s half-hard but growing in Louis’ hand and he wanks him a few times, covering the crown of his cock with his mouth and sucking with his tongue pressed against the slit until Nick is fully hard, his dick wet with Louis’ spit. 

“Oh god-” Nick is spread out against the couch, breathing hard, his forehead sticky. 

“Good?” Louis asks and Nick nods frantically, hips twitching toward Louis’ mouth again. Louis climbs to his feet, takes off his jeans and socks and underwear, but ignores his own cock. There’s a moment after he makes his way to the bedroom for condoms and lube in which he considers gathering his things up and bolting and leaving Nick high and dry, but he doesn’t. He comes back and Nick welcomes him with his arms open, an easy, needy smile on his face, and Louis climbs into his lap, rocking down against his cock until it presses into his crack, cushioned between his cheeks. Nick moans, thrusts up, his cock catching against Louis’ dry hole, and leans in to bite Louis’ nipple. 

“Come on,” he says and Louis nods, breathing hard. He feels hot all over, like he’s feverish, hands unsteady when he squeezes a generous portion of lube onto his fingers and, sitting up, rubs them over his hole. 

He drops his head against Nick’s shoulder and pushes inside, first one, wiggling and moving it until it slides more easily, then another, fucking himself on two until he feels like he might come soon. His cock is dripping precome on Nick’s chest and stomach already, and he pushes against it a bit more, rocking between his fingers and Nick’s body, whimpering. 

“Let me fuck you now,” Nick moans. He fumbles between Louis’ legs to roll a condom on and then his hands are on Louis’ arse, spreading his cheeks apart, and Louis nods frantically. He withdraws his fingers and allows Nick to guide him down again, curving his back and grabbing Nick’s cock to help him push inside.

Nick thrusts up, the head of his cock squeezing inside painfully slowly; he keeps rocking up into Louis until he’s buried inside and Louis uses his weight, sitting back down, to help along, his mouth slack and open. 

“Ride me,” Nick says harshly. He rubs his thumb over one of Louis’ nipples and Louis mewls and closes his eyes. He starts rocking up and down, trying to find the best angle with Nick’s cock pressed tightly against his prostate. Once he does, he sticks to it, steadying himself with his hands on Nick’s shoulder, fucking himself on Nick’s cock. 

It’s rougher than usual, his body tighter, and he revels in the sting of it, in the sharp pinching pleasure of Nick inside of him. Nick’s sounds are a mix of breathy groans and moans and Louis’ name. 

“I’m close,” he grunts and Louis nods, sweat pearling off his forehead. He blindly reaches between them and starts wanking himself off, feeling himself clench around Nick each time. It only takes a few tugs for him to come, spilling over his hand and Nick’s stomach, and Nick follows along with a hoarse shout only a moment later. 

“Jesus,” Nick says. He pets Louis’ side and grins up at him happily, so very obviously satisfied and content. 

“Yeah.” Louis catches his breath, feeling dizzy and aching from Nick’s cock inside of him still; he climbs off gingerly and gathers his briefs from the floor while Nick discards of the condom. 

“Should we shower?” Nick asks, coming back to the sofa. Louis shakes his head. He sits on the couch, wincing a little, and Nick joins him there, still naked. He smells like sex, like _Louis_ , and Louis reaches out and touches his lips with his thumb. 

“Do you think,” he starts. “Do you think I can tell Harry maybe?” It’s not what he means to say, but it’s as good as anything to silence the nagging feeling inside of him, the simmering dread that needs to know. 

Nick pulls a grimace, but doesn’t evade Louis’ touch. He catches Louis’ fingers in his hand and kisses them, then shakes his head. “I’d really rather like- that we stick to what we talked about?” he says and Louis feels his stomach drop again even though this is exactly what he was expecting. 

“Keeping it a secret then?” he asks. His voice feels cold and Nick’s face tells him that it must sound that way too, but he can’t hear himself over the blearing flood of noise in his ears. 

“Yeah,” Nick says slowly. “That’d- yeah.”

Louis nods. He pulls away slowly. “Alright.” Leans down and picks up his T-shirt, jeans and socks and starts getting dressed with Nick watching him. 

“What’re you doing?” Nick asks and Louis looks up. His eyes are burning and if he stays another minute he will cry, and he cannot let that happen. 

“I’m going home,” he says. “Harry’s home and will wonder where I’ve been.”

Nick stays quiet at that; he pulls one leg up as if to cover himself, but Louis isn’t looking anyway. He’s fully dressed a few seconds later and getting ready in the hall, refusing to look at Nick when he leaves, shaking all over.

*

Louis doesn’t want to feel stupid and childish and foolish, but there’s nothing else that’s left in him because he should’ve known right from the start. He picked Nick up at the bar without much expectations, a feeling that was mutual, and it should have stayed that way. There is nothing but chance involved in the fact that they met again and now that Louis is thinking about it, mouth tight, curled up in bed, there was never any question about it that very first time, that they were never going to see each other again.

He’s foolish because he’d thought - maybe expected - this to turn into something more than it was and he was lulled by the comfort that Nick provided; he’s stupid because he was lonely and fell for the first guy that provided him company and affection, and childish because he should have known better, because he should’ve known that he would get hurt by something as vague as Nick offered. 

It’s simply that he turned out to be convenient - convenient for Nick and easily available and he hates himself for it. 

It’s Friday and Louis has called in to work sick the second day in a row; he hasn’t been to uni, and Harry is sensing that there’s something wrong that Louis doesn’t want to talk about because he’s tiptoeing around the flat, being quiet as a mouse and leaving foods out for Louis to sneak back to his room.

He doesn’t ask about what’s wrong because he’s known Louis for long enough to know that this would make things only worse and Louis is grateful for that. He enjoys the silence of his room and he’s turned off his phone, save to chat with his mum once which he hasn’t done in ages. 

Her gentle voice almost made him cry - which he hasn’t at all - and she made him tell her all the foods he wanted for his birthday dinner. It felt good, it felt normal, and it gave Louis room to breathe for a while. 

He sleeps all through Friday until Saturday morning, and comes out of his room only to crawl into bed with Harry, who makes a few unhappy noises and complains about cold feet, but lets Louis lie in the curve of his body, wrapping a protective arm around him. He’s like a furnace and Louis wakes him at lunch time by pinching his side and boxing his shoulder. 

Harry makes some pasta and they eat together, talk about stupid things that mean nothing and that Louis doesn’t have to think about. He lets Harry ramble about the merits of organic food and of whether they should, as a flat community, stop using plastic bags and get a few textile shopping bags. 

Sunday runs along the same vein; he listens to Harry cancel dinner plans and they cook together, side by side. 

Louis doesn’t stop feeling heavy, but he stops feeling like he’s trapped. 

He calls Nick Monday afternoon when he knows Nick is home from work already. It rings through into the voicemail and Louis puts his phone on the counter in the kitchen and makes a cup of tea, waits for Nick to call back, which he does just as Louis’ tea is done. 

“Hi,” he says before Nick can say anything. 

“Hey,” Nick says back. “Hey.”

Louis sits down with his tea and traces the faded lines of Spiderman on it. He feels very strangely calm, much like he did when he and Liam bungee jumped from Tower Bridge last March, like there’s no way back anyway. “Listen, I’m sorry for just leaving the other day,” he says. 

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” Nick says. “I’m sorry I didn’t call this week. I was in Switzerland.”

“I know.” Louis shrugs at himself. Spiderman used to look fearlessly toward the edge of the mug, but now his face is blank except for a few lines of web here and there. “I don’t think we should be seeing each other anymore,” he says. Saying it out loud feels like a hot knife, like he’s branding himself. “I think that would be for the best.”

To his surprise, Nick doesn’t just accept. He’s quiet for so long that Louis thinks he’s lost him, but then he says, “Not see each other anymore? As in- why?” There’s a tang of discomposure to his voice, but Louis breathes calmly traces another round of mug lines before replying. 

“I think we have extremely different expectations of- of like what this is supposed to be.” He cups his hand over his cup, feels the heat of the steam burn his skin, but aches all over. “I don’t. I can’t do casual, Nick, but I respect that you don’t want to be in a relationship.” Nick doesn’t immediately react, so Louis continues, “And I wouldn’t be able to keep lying to my best friends about this anyway.”

“Louis,” Nick starts. “Lou.” His voice is weird, like he’s holding back, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Okay,” Louis says. “That’s all I had to say, really. Since you don’t have anything else to say.” He pushes his mug away with too much force, spilling tea everywhere. “Do you?”

“Louis, what do you want me to say?” Nick asks, sounding desperate. 

Louis feels a bitter laugh bubble up inside of him and he shakes his head. “Nothing, I don’t want you to say anything. You’ve already said everything on Tuesday.” He suddenly doesn’t feel calm at all anymore, stomach hot with anger. “You shouldn’t, actually,” he snaps and then exhales, squeezes his eyes shut. “Y’know what? Don’t say anything. And I’ve got to go now.” 

“Louis,” Nick starts, but then seems to resign himself. “Alright,” he says and that may be the single most painful thing Louis has ever heard.

*

The thought of telling Harry, telling Zayn or somebody else, _everyone_ else, remains with Louis hours after the phone call and is barely faded by the time Harry gets home from work. Louis stays in bed and listens to the sounds of Harry making dinner, listens as he walks around the flat and talks to somebody on the phone, laughs, and eventually knocks on Louis’ door, softly telling him that a plate of chicken alfredo is waiting for him in the fridge, should he get hungry.

Louis doesn’t reply, but he texts him a little _thank you_ and buries more deeply into his blanket. His anger has long faded and left him with an emptiness that’s worse than the feeling of uncertainty from before. He tells himself, though, that knowing and accepting the consequences on his own terms, is far superior to allowing Nick to control the nature of their relationship, further, to just be pulled along by the currents until he goes under. 

He keeps replaying their last conversation in his head, over and over, and then rewinds to the previous week and Tuesday evening, to see if there’s anything he did wrong, and even further back, until he’s analyzing and trying to remember every single little detail that could mean something, or nothing at all. 

He sneaks out in the middle of the night and has dinner in front of the telly, watching reruns of friends until he falls asleep on the sofa, too tired to keep thinking and grateful for it. 

Harry navigates around him in the morning and Louis, barely awake, watches him get ready, tiptoeing around so as to not wake him up. He falls back asleep to vivid dreams about Nick and the freckles on his cheeks and the sound of his voice, and wakes up on his back, breathing hard and fast, heart beating fast and hard as though he’d run a marathon. 

His skin is prickly and it makes him recall Nick’s hands on him, Nick’s mouth and Nick’s body against his own. He sits up abruptly and tries to shake it off, shivering. He doesn’t want to miss it, and he hates that his brain would do this to him and betray him like that. 

Climbing to his feet, he grabs his phone and texts Zayn that he’s coming to work today and not to leave before he gets there, then goes to have a shower. He remembers breaking up with Aiden and the weeks after and how much better he’d felt when he finally made it out of the flat and had Zayn to distract himself with and to talk to. He remembers also, though, that he hadn’t felt this depleted after his last talk with Aiden. 

Zayn is at the shop when Louis gets there dressed in trackie bottoms and an oversized jumper and Harry’s coat. 

“Yo,” Zayn says and Louis collapses against him, feeling a bit stupid.

“Yo,” he mumbles. His voice is all hoarse and unused because he hasn’t talked in over a day. Zayn ruffles his hair and gives him a look with his brows raised. 

“You alright?” he says and Louis nods, and then shakes his head because there’s no real point in pretending anyway.

“No,” he says, trying to think of a way to tell Zayn without _telling_ Zayn. “I was kind of- the guy from Grindr, right? I kind of told him that we’re not gonna be seeing each other anymore.”

“That’s good,” Zayn says. “That’s good, right?”

Louis shrugs and then nods slowly. “I suppose. We had different expectations.” He looks down and feels Zayn’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Did you like him?” he asks and Louis nods again. 

“Yeah,” he admits; he’s thought about it before but saying it loud has a larger impact than confessing it to himself. “I kind of did. But he’s not- y’know. He just wanted a physical relationship, I think.” 

Zayn mh’s and Louis against the counter, stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “That’s no good, right?”

“Not unless that’s what you want, too,” Zayn says. “And you’re not like, that’s not something that’s like you. You talked about that guy you hooked up with, the one-night-stand guy from two months ago for days.” 

“Yeah.” Louis rubs his face. It’s better this way, he tells himself, trying to find assurance in Zayn’s face, but finds only concern. 

“Can we get high?” he asks and Zayn laughs. 

“Ben won’t be happy, but-” He grins and Louis scoffs. 

“Ben can join in, fuck it,” he says. 

Zayn rolls a little joint for each of them from his supply under the counter and they smoke it slowly, deliberately, and play table football with cheese balls with little goals made from licorice until it’s time to close the shop.

Louis sleeps in Harry’s bed again that night and has more dreams about Nick; he wakes in cold sweat just before Harry’s alarm goes off and trudges off to his own bed to sleep more, unsure in that very moment whether the last few days were a dream that he just now woke up from. 

Harry brings him chocolates and biscuits in the afternoon, home early from work for once. Louis helps him make dinner, cuts his finger while peeling potatoes and is banned to sit at the kitchen table and not touch anything until Harry’s done. 

“You’re a danger to yourself,” Harry says, shaking his head. “You’ve been so out of it.”

“I know,” Louis says. He doesn’t know if he could talk around truth to Harry as he did with Zayn, isn’t sure that he’s not just going to break down once he starts and tell Harry everything, every single little detail. There’s a part of him that really wants to - simply to satisfy his childish urge to hurt Nick - but he keeps it in check. 

“It’s been a rough few days,” he concedes. Harry turns around from where he’s stirring and looks at him, concerned, then apparently decides that Louis looks like he’d rather not talk about it, which is true. 

They have a few drinks after dinner and Louis steadily eats his way through his snacks until his tummy is sticking out and Harry’s laughing at him. 

“You’re going to get fat,” he says and Louis kicks him, but eats another bar of chocolate. 

Somehow, the news of Louis’ mood makes the rounds, and on Friday, Liam calls him and says, “You’re going out with me and El. Niall’s coming too, we’ve got a bit of a bet going on who will drink the most pints.”

Louis grunts into the phone, wanting to say no, wanting to sleep all day and pretend the world has stopped moving. 

“I’m betting on you,” Liam continues, “but Niall says Jesy will beat you.”

Louis stares up at the ceiling of his room for a few moments and then says, “Fuck that, I can try.” 

He doesn’t win, but gets almost blackout drunk; Harry takes him home, his arm under Louis’ armpits and carrying him along, while Louis comments on the quality of outfits of random passerby. 

“Your shoes are atrocious,” he calls out to one girl and Harry apologizes for him and keeps dragging him forward until they get to the tube. 

“You know,” he says. “It’s funny. Nick has been just as insufferable as you. Have you been listening? He’s been insulting everyone left and right, and he’s been bloody mopey.” 

Louis drops down on a bench and stares at his hands; Harry’s words are a jumble in his head until they start making sense slowly. “He’s been sad?” he says. His heart stings again. It’s Friday night and even though he told himself not to, he’s been hoping for something from Nick, a call, a text, stupidly and drunkenly hoping for a message. 

“Yeah.” Harry sits next to him. “Ever since he came back from his trip, I reckon.” He shakes his head and Louis leans against him. 

“He’s a dick,” he grunts and Harry laughs. 

“He’s _not_ ,” he says gently. “He’s just. I don’t know. I think sometimes he’s very honest, but other times he doesn’t talk about anything at all. He’s a lot like you.”

“I’m better,” Louis insists. He suddenly doesn’t like that Harry and Nick talk about things, that Harry is still Nick’s friend and that Harry gets to see Nick every day. 

“Of course.” Harry rubs his back soothingly. They get home not much later, and Louis scrolls through his texts with Nick while Harry is in the shower, gnawing on his lip, but then stuffs his phone under a pillow on the sofa and goes to bed before he can do anything that he’s going to regret in the morning. 

Lying in bed, head spinning, he thinks that there is no point even if Nick is missing him, when Nick doesn’t want him the same way anyway.

*

The weekend days blend together in a dizzy whirl of alcohol and dancing and karaoke and sharing bottles of wine and several joints out by the river, all of them wrapped in blankets and playing silly children’s games. For a few hours, Louis forgets where his emptiness ends and where his high starts and which of his emotions are genuine, which ones are real.

He wakes to a serene silence on Monday at noon, having kicked off his duvet, and wrapped himself around his pillow. It takes him a few moments to orient himself, make sense of the medley of memories and dream fragments in his head, and he’s hit with a loneliness so intense it leaves him breathless and yearning, but he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it. 

He swallows the lump in his throat down and gets out of bed to make a cup of tea and brush his teeth. His phone is ringing when he returns to his room and he picks up without checking the caller ID. It feels like he’s being smacked by an anchor when Nick’s voice comes through the speaker. 

“Hey,” Nick says. Louis stops in the middle of the room, opening and closing his mouth, unable to find anything to say. 

“Lou?” Nick says. The petname makes Louis’ insides twist and he takes a few steps backwards and leans against the bedroom door, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“I- I’ve been thinking this week,” Nick continues. “I wanna- I’d really like to talk to you.”

“No,” Louis croaks, then runs through what he’s rehearsed in his head over and over. “I think we both know that this- that this like leads nowhere.”

“You don’t know that,” Nick starts but Louis, pulse racing, cuts him off. 

“I do! I meant it, I meant what I said on Monday.” He doesn’t know what else to say, how to explain to Nick how much this is taking out of him because he doesn’t want to expose himself anymore than he already has, is vulnerable enough as is. “We’re just not on the same page about what we want.” 

“We should talk about that at least,” Nick tries again but it’s not at all what Louis wants to hear. He doesn’t want to discuss what he wants because he knows what he wants and Nick has previously made it clear that he can’t give it to Louis. 

“I really, really don’t want to do that, Nick.” He hangs up, angry at himself for picking up in the first place, but mostly annoyed that he’s suddenly feeling faintly hopeful again, as if Nick’s call means anything at all. 

Nick keeps trying that day and leaves a voice message on Louis’ phone that Louis deletes without listening to it. He doesn’t trust himself with the strength to say no the next time he talks to him. 

He occupies himself with shopping for presents for his sisters and mum in the afternoon, meeting up with Perrie and Zayn in the city where the Christmas lights in the streets are lit brightly. They find a place for hot chocolate and Louis ignores his phone even when it vibrates in his pocket. He turns it off when he gets home and goes to bed before Harry is back from work, feeling like he’s caught in a ridiculous loop: wake up, feel terrible, occupy yourself to feel less terrible for a few hours, get home, feel even worse. Rinse, repeat. 

It catches up with him Wednesday morning after another vivid dream, and he scrambles to turn his phone on again to find three more missed calls from Nick and a text that reads _please I really need to talk to you_. He sits in bed for a long time, staring at it and wanting to text back, wanting to call Nick and find him and kiss him, but he calls his mum instead and goes with her through Lottie’s Christmas wishlist, chats with her about the markets and the lights and how much he’s looking forward to going home. They decide that he is to take a train on Saturday, and knowing when he’ll be home with his family suddenly takes some of the weight off Louis’ chest, like it’s offering a light at the end of the tunnel, a way out.

Nick rings again on Thursday but Louis mutes the call before his phone vibrates even once, and deletes the consequent voicemail notification without listening to that message either. It’s not that he doesn’t want to know what Nick has to say but he keeps tracking back to all the other things that Nick has said before. He shouldn’t get his hopes up only to have them stepped on again. 

He picks Harry up from work that afternoon to get mulled wine and waffles in the city, and they find a little restaurant that promises both where they sit by the window, watching the busy Christmas streets. It’s snowing a little and Louis, sipping his wine, finds himself smiling. 

Harry nudges him with his foot. “You okay?”

Louis nods. He’s going to be, he thinks. He can feel the beginnings of resignation and it won’t be long until he’s home and has more than enough distraction. “I’m going home soon,” he says. “Saturday.”

“Oh.” Harry frowns. “I was going to tell you this earlier, but I sort of forgot. There’s this Christmas party that we were invited to. We should go, there’s free food and drinks.” 

Louis sits back a little, suspicious. “It’s not a work thing, is it?” he asks but Harry shakes his head. 

“No, no. Nick and some of his friends are hosting, though. It’ll be fun. I should go and cheer him up a bit.” Harry sighs and Louis wants to shake him, but instead grips his mug more tightly. “He’s been getting worse. Keeps checking his phone all the time.” 

“Really.” Louis takes a huge sip of his wine and doesn’t say any more eve though he wants to find out exactly how miserable Nick is and exactly what he’s said if he’s said anything. On the other hand, he hopes Harry will stop talking about this soon and just drop it, so Louis can stop biting the inside of his cheek, but Harry doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he just continues. “Pretty miserable. We should go.” 

“I’m not going,” Louis blurts out. “I can’t go. I need to leave early Saturday.”

Harry frowns at him. “Just one drink? Please? I asked the others too. I think Zayn and Perrie said they’d come by, and Liam said he’d try, and El and Sophia are coming. It’ll be a good distraction for whatever’s going on with you.” 

“No,” Louis says again, but feels himself crumble, both over wanting to see Nick struggle and very simply wanting to see Nick. “Maybe,” he adds. “But only for a bit.”

*

By the time Harry is hovering over him nervously on Friday evening, waiting for Louis to finish getting ready, Louis is tempted to back out at the last second. He suddenly doesn’t want to know anymore what Nick looks like when he’s sad and he doesn’t want to see Nick’s reaction to him showing up anymore. He wants to curl up in bed and take the earliest train possible the next morning.

Harry isn’t moving, though, making helpful suggestions about Louis’ hair and outfit. He’s looking festive in a black blazer and shirt, tight jeans and boots, and Louis wonders for how long he’s mulled over this outfit, to get everything just right. 

Louis doesn’t want to dress up, but the thought of showing up and looking grubby at the party makes him squirmy and want to bury himself in the ground. He squeezes into his jeans and wiggles his toes into his socks. He puts on a red T-shirt that adequately shows off his tattoo and then starts rummaging through his clothes, sighing. 

“Put on your denim jacket,” Harry suggests from the bed. “You know, the dark one.”

“Okay,” Louis says. He would usually argue for a bit, tease Harry before following his advice, but he’s nervous. It’s a good combination and he likes the way it makes him look sharp, if a little narrow. He sits on his bed and allows Harry to mess with his hair, fluff it up a bit. 

Harry’s got a weirdly soft look on his face when he’s done and Louis tilts his chin up, nudges it against Harry’s hand. “Do I look good?” he asks and Harry nods. 

“You look great. I’d totally do you,” Harry replies. Louis scrunches up his nose and gets up and hugs him tightly. He smells like some ridiculous hemp soap, the kind he keeps in a box in the bathroom, and too much hairspray and their laundry detergent. He hugs Louis back tightly, bending down to hide his face against Louis’ shoulder like he used to when he was still a head shorter. 

“You smell like a bloody hippy,” Louis says. He squeezes Harry’s shoulders and Harry laughs and pulls away, his hair in disarray. 

“And you? Did you even shower today?” 

Louis scoffs and rubs his clean-shaven chin, then pats Harry’s chest. He feels solid and nice, his birds peeking out of his shirt. Suddenly, Louis has a lot of things he wants to say because Harry has been putting up with him for weeks and hasn’t been prying and wasn’t hurt that Louis couldn’t tell him things. Louis isn’t sure that he would’ve had the same kind of patience. He looks down at their feet, his the toes of his vans pressed against the shiny tips of Harry’s black boots, and then up again, and realizes that he doesn’t need to say anything out loud. Harry’s smile tells him that Harry knows already anyway. 

“Shall we go?” Louis says instead and offers his arm out to Harry who takes it. Louis wraps himself in a thick scarf and jacket he stole from El, and they head out. 

It’s not as cold as it had been the rest of the week, but Louis is happy about the additional layers. He’s unable to keep still on the tube, tapping his foot nervously, and ignores it when Harry gives him a half-curious, half-amused look. 

They make it to the pub just as it looks like it’s filling up with patrons, but Harry tugs Louis through a door upstairs, waving at the barman. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla candles and sugar, and the walls are decorated in red and green ribbons. On a table in a corner is a small, ugly plastic Christmas tree decorated with neon-colored ornaments and lights. 

There’s a lot of people gathered around a few tall tables, sitting in corners on sofas, talking and eating, and a buffet with food. Harry keeps walking, waving at some people, but Louis stops in the door, all his courage suddenly gone out the window. 

He spots Nick standing by a table with a pint in his hand and laughing. He doesn’t look miserable at all and Louis’ stomach twists and he wishes he hadn’t come. He ducks into the crowd, looking around and hoping to find Zayn and the others, but Nick moves to the buffet and Louis freezes, caught between the door, a group of people and Nick’s line of sight. 

Their eyes catch and Nick stops; he looks surprised for a moment and then he attempts a careful smile, turning more toward Louis. Louis stares back, then darts his eyes to the door, to Niall’s blond head in a corner of the room, to the bar, and back to Nick who is still waiting for him to make a move. 

He reaches a hand out, apparently not caring that somebody might notice, and Louis clenches his jaw and ducks away into a random direction, heart hammering, confused and overwhelmed. He finds Liam and the rest of his friends and hides behind him, face red. 

“Hi,” he manages, waving at everyone as they greet him back. He grabs a random drink off the table and downs it, coughing after, blinking rapidly. “Needed a drink,” he says, smiling half-heartedly, and Zayn gives him a worried look, brows furrowed. Louis shrugs at him, but can’t help sneaking a look toward where he last saw Nick. 

“You alright, love?” Perrie says. She reaches out and touches Louis’ hand and Louis nods.

“I just need a real drink,” he says; he does. He needs a shot of something strong so his nerves will go away and he can pretend Nick is not around and this is not his party. He excuses himself and makes his way through the crowd to the bar and orders a pint and a lime vodka shot with the barman cocking his brow at him. He drinks his shot, hissing, and then sips from his beer when suddenly a body presses against the bar next to him. 

He knows it’s Nick without even turning around or looking up and he keeps still trying not to react even when Nick tells the barman, “I’ll have the same.”

Louis frowns and says, “Give me another.”

The barman shakes his head at them, but fills two glasses. Louis downs his and hears Nick groan unhappily at the taste. The alcohol settles in Louis’ stomach, both a comfort and an additional burden, and he finally looks up at Nick, keeping his face carefully blank. Nick is staring back at him, and now upon closer inspection Louis notices the shadows under his eyes and how tired he looks. 

“You need to stop calling me,” he says. It’s making everything worse, he wants to add, but he’s not had enough shots for that by far.

Nick’s mouth tightens barely noticeably. “I wanted to speak to you,” he explains carefully. 

“I know.” Louis takes a little step back, putting some space between them; he’s itching to touch Nick because he’s close and he’s there, and he can’t have that happening. 

“I wanted to apologize,” Nick continues as if Louis hadn’t said anything. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” He stops and Louis doesn’t want to hear it, not at all, because he doesn’t want Nick to _apologize_ , he just wants Nick, so he keeps quiet, pressing his lips together into a narrow line. 

“Can we talk now?” Nick asks. He sounds more hopeful than he has any right to be and Louis doesn’t quite understand. 

“Okay,” he says. “Alright.” 

He expects Nick to ask him to come outside, but Nick very gently guides him to an empty table by the ridiculous Christmas tree where they set their beers down. Louis cranes his neck a bit, looking around, and Nick doesn’t say anything until he turns back to him. 

“Talk,” he says. He grips his pint with one hand and the edge of the table with the other, wanting to hold onto something; he should walk away but there’s something in Nick’s face that makes him want to stay and hear him out, something quiet and earnest. 

“I am really terrible at this,” Nick says. He spreads his hands out. “At all of this. I’m not- I’ve never. See?” He shakes his head at himself and Louis nods, feeling like his nails are slowly being pulled from his fingers, one by one. 

“I’ve never had a relationship before,” Nick admits after a moment. “It’s huge and bloody scary. But I shouldn’t have let you go that night. I realize it’s too late now, but-” He shrugs and smiles bitterly and Louis closes his eyes and breathes slowly. 

“Nick,” he starts, but Nick interrupts him. 

“I was an arsehole,” he says. “I probably _am_ one, making you listen to all of this.”

Louis shakes his head. He feels a bit like he’s splitting apart, being pulled in different directions. “We just- had different approaches,” he says lamely when all he wants is to agree with Nick.

Nick grins a bit. “I kind of- I knew you’d come out of a relationship, and I still- the things I said on air. I had some really good friends try to strangle me after I told them what happened.”

“You _told_ people?” Louis perks up, blinking, confused. 

“Yeah,” Nick says. “I did. It took too long for me to get it, that like, that it’s not scary, and that it wouldn’t be hard to be with you.” He stops and Louis opens and closes his mouth, not quite comprehending what Nick is trying to say; Nick continues before he can say anything, though. “I just wanted you to know, that like, that I am sorry. I know it’s too late now, but I just need you to know that I do feel the same.”

“I had to lie to my best friends because you didn’t want anybody to know about me,” Louis says slowly. He feels daft and isn’t sure if what’s registering in his mind is actually what Nick is saying. It comes so unexpected and he’s completely unprepared for it. “I don’t- Are you saying that you want to be with me?” he blurts out and Nick runs his fingers through his hair; his hand is shaking and he finally nods. 

“I suppose so. I know I don’t have the right to say that,” he says. “But yeah. I do. It feels weird when you’re not complaining about my food or pampering Puppy.” 

“You were embarrassed about me,” Louis recounts, unbelieving, brain too quick for him to stop himself. “I was just- wasn’t I just convenient?”

Nick’s face changes, suddenly he looks pained and he shakes his head quickly, moves to touch Louis, but then doesn’t. “I was never- no, seriously, Lou, no. I was just bloody scared. I liked you from the very first moment on, and then when I found you in Harry’s kitchen, it was unreal. I was never, ever embarrassed.” 

“Why didn’t you want anyone to know then?” Louis shakes his head at Nick, but keeps his voice down. 

“At first it was because I work with Harry,” Nick says. “And then- I didn’t know what to do? It was like a chain reaction, and I didn’t know how to go back and fix it.” He sounds painfully honest and it shows in his face that none of this is easy for him to admit, that he must’ve mulled over this for days. 

Louis looks away, throat tight, and then meets his eyes again. “You made me feel terrible,” he says finally. “Like I was a dirty secret.” He spits the last word out, angry for a split second, and Nick winces, nodding. 

“You weren’t.” He seems to be struggling for words and then says, “I just didn’t even know what I wanted, and how to tell you. Not at all. But like, I know it now, and I know that I want you and that I want to give this a try, if that’s what you want.”

Louis bites his lip and tries to process, tries to logically go through the steps that will lead to an answer, but all that his brain is coming up with is memories of Nick and how good waking up with him felt and how much he wants it to happen again. 

“I want to,” he says. “But this is hard.”

Nick inclines his head; he takes a breath, appears to gear up for another explanation, but then just says, “I understand.”

He knows he should probably think about this some more, and that Nick is giving him that time, that it’s not a decision that he needs to make tonight or tomorrow, but as soon as he starts considering that, he knows that it needs to be now.

“No more lying,” he finds himself saying without hesitating at all. Nick’s face lights up, his smile small and hopeful.

“No more lying,” he echoes and Louis takes a step toward him, legs moving on their own, and lets Nick hug him. He wraps his arms around his waist and leans in, curling his fingers into Nick’s blazer, holding on. 

“And this is a test run,” he continues, looking up, his nose nudging Nick’s chin. “To see if this will work.”

“Yes,” Nick agrees. He pulls Louis in closer, all warm and long, lanky limbs. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he says and Louis nods and draws back, his heart racing. He’s aware of people watching all of a sudden, but doesn’t care at all. He tiptoes and Nick kisses him carefully: First the corner of his mouth, then sweetly on the lips, sighing. 

They break apart, but Louis allows Nick to take his hand, grinning like an idiot; he meets Harry’s eyes, who’s sitting with the others at their table, watching; their faces are priceless, surprise and shock. Zayn mouths _Grindr?_ at Louis and Louis shakes his head vehemently, pursing his mouth. Aimee, Ian and a few of Nick’s other friends are crowded together in a little circle by the bar, watching them. They give them thumps when Louis turns toward them and Nick groans and tugs Louis closer, squeezing his hand. 

He leads Louis toward the Christmas tree, and Louis tilts his head, confused. 

“I’ve got something for you,” Nick explains. “Because it’s your birthday on Tuesday, right? Harry told me.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “But you don’t-” Nick shushes him and lets go of his hand, ducks down to produce a bag from under the table. 

“I didn’t know how to wrap it properly,” he says apologetically. “And I hope it fits.” He hands Louis the bag and Louis peeks inside, pulls out a coat. He hides his face behind the collar for a moment, laughing into it, and then looks up at Nick who says, “And just for the record, I would’ve given this to you either way, if only so you can lose it.”

“You remembered that?” he asks. “That I lost my coat?”

Nick smiles back at him, nodding. “Of course I did.” He cups Louis’ cheek and kisses him again, and Louis presses close, letting the bag drop on the floor, and wraps his arms around Nick’s neck. “You’re so stupid,” he says. “You’re such an idiot.”

They kiss a bit more, until Louis feels inappropriate and pulls away, with Nick’s hand on his neck. “I need to go home soon,” he says.

Nick frowns and shakes his head. “You can come home with me. Let’s skip this party. The host is terrible.”

“No, no,” Louis says. “I’ve got to catch a train tomorrow morning, Nick. I’m going home to Doncaster.”

“I’ll drive you,” Nick says. He kisses Louis again, nipping at his lips. “You can introduce me to your mum.”

Louis scoffs, amused. “Easy now,” he says, rubbing Nick’s arm. “ _That_ ’s moving a bit too fast.” Nick’s eyes are the most peculiar shade of green in this light, almost brown, but not quite; Louis’ heart feels like it’s bursting. 

He barely hears it when Nick gently says, “Alright.” He caresses Louis’ cheek, eyes soft. “Set the pace.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://flimsi.tumblr.com)|[Livejournal](http://flimsy.livejournal.com)


End file.
